


there's a strange exhilaration

by priorwalter



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, College AU, Depression, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 47,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priorwalter/pseuds/priorwalter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson have terrible communication skills, Lafayette is tired of Hamilton's shit, and James Madison just wants a break.</p><p>buckle your seatbelts, kids, it's time for pining. updates every two days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> before we start, you should know im one of those people who writes a shit ton of unnecessary stuff in the notes. i tend to ramble all the time so here goes.
> 
> 1\. i don't edit at all, save for a few grammar mistakes and stuff, and even then i probably dont catch all of it. it's not that im too lazy to edit or anything, i just never want to change anything unless i wait a long time and i just don't have that much patience.  
> 2\. i've only written one thing with these characters before so i'm still sorta getting used to their characterization and stuff, so be gentle.  
> 3\. i have seven chapters written, and i haven't decided on an updating schedule yet. it's probably going to be once a week but who knows i'll figure it out by chapter 2.  
> 4\. the title is taken from What Is This Feeling? from Wicked. if you haven't heard the song, here's a hint: the feeling is pure, unadulterated loathing. which is oddly fitting for this pair.  
> 5\. when the hamilsquad are texting, they use the word favourite without the u, the american way. favorite. as a canadian, this physically pains me.
> 
> i will shut up now. hopefully my nattering hasn't put you off my fic. without further ado, enjoy!!

There are hundreds of thousands of words churning through Alexander’s brain, but they’re all just out of his reach. He sits with his laptop, curled up in a chair in the utterly silent library, attempting to will the words onto the page.

He’s been all messed up since the year started. His anxiety had been worsening over the summer, but it wasn’t bad enough to be worthy of mentioning. Now, though, it’s getting in the way of his work, the work which usually provided him solace from his anxiety. He taps out a few words and erases them, clenching his fists in frustration.

His thoughts wander back to when it all started. It was early August when they received their rooms and roommates. Alex had been with Lafayette for every year previous, so he hadn’t been worried. Imagine his surprise when he saw Thomas Jefferson’s name written on the manila paper. It was almost funny, at first. Mortal enemies, Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson forced to room together. It seemed like something that happens in sitcoms but never real life.

Alexander put off thinking about it for as long as he could, didn’t answer when Thomas tried to contact him. He told himself and his friends it was because he didn’t want to speak to Jefferson more than he had to, but in reality he was terrified. Thomas Jefferson was an arrogant asshole, and while Alex most certainly didn’t care what he thought, what if he insults him for how he painted his nails, what if he judges Alexander’s strange habits, what if he finds Alexander’s anxiety medication? A hundred thousand scenarios unfold in his mind all at once and it’s so, so hard to stay in the present.

<><><><><><>

Alexander’s phone chimes. It’s a text on the group chat from Lafayette:

 **america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _did any of you get your room mate assignments also?_

 **johnny:** _i’m with burr, which is alright, i guess_

 **eliiiiiiza:** _I got with Angie again_

 **pegs:** _maria and i are together_

 **angie:** _well at least i didn’t get stuck with anyone too bad_

 **eliiiiiiza:** _:(((((((((((_

 **america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _well I am with herc this year_

 **america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _alex?_

Alexander rushes to the door to check the mail, finding a letter from his university. He skims over the boring parts until he finally locates the name of his room mate: Thomas Jefferson. He  freezes for a moment, before a tidal wave of emotion crashes over him. Some part of him wants to laugh and another wants to cry. The thin black lettering stares back at him on the thick white paper, until he’s been looking at it so long the script begins to swim across his vision. After an indeterminate amount of time, it occurs to him to inform his friends.

 **Me:** _i got stuck with jefferson_

Immediately, there’s a flurry of responses.

 **johnny:** _HOLY SHIT ARE YOU OKAY_

 **america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _how do you feel about this alexander ?_

 **eliiiiiiza:** _oh my god_

 **miss maria:** _are you gonna be okay with that??????????_

Alex is touched by his friends’ responses, but he’s not sure if he should tell the truth or not. After a moment he decides not to worry them with his worrying.

 **Me:** _ill deal with it if i dont murder him first_

His friends keep texting, but he turns his phone off. What will he do now? All of his thoughts have boiled down to _I’m going to have to live with Thomas Jefferson I can’t do this_. It seems an impossible task: they argue at every given opportunity and more. How are they going to make it through the first week, let alone the whole year? He decides to consult his father (George Washington, and the fact that everyone’s favourite professor is Alex’s father is a fact he likes to keep to himself).

“Are you sure this is a problem, Alexander? It might be good to finally become friends with him.” He says thoughtfully, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder. Oh, so he was pulling the _Alexander_ card. His father only called him _Alexander_ when he was having a Serious Talk (™).

“I can’t get along with him, dad, he’s an awful person.” Alex retorted indignantly, glaring. Why wasn’t his dad on his side? He was there for many, many of Thomas and Alex’s arguments, couldn’t he see that they had too many difference to put aside?

“He’s as bad as you seem to think. Just try to get along with him. If it’s as bad as you say it is when the year starts, I’ll talk to the staff. Just-”

“No, you can’t talk to the staff.” That would be giving up, that would be… the college equivalent of tattling.

His father sighed. “Don’t let your pride get the better of you, Alexander.” Alex glares but doesn’t respond. He finally makes his way back to his room and doesn’t slam the door because he is an adult. (He really wanted to, though.)

After much deliberation, he files away his thoughts of Jefferson for a later date. It’s best not to ruin his summer, right?

<><><><><><>

In hindsight, he thinks, it may have been better to talk to his friends about his issues about this. Now, though, if he brought it up, they’d yell at him for not speaking up about it sooner. (They’d still help him, of course, but he didn’t like it when his friends scolded him. What if they were finally realizing he wasn’t worth their time?)

If he cared enough to concentrate on his surroundings, Alexander thinks that everything might be a little blurry, but he doesn’t. All that matters is the empty, blank page before him. He thought it would be better in the library, where it’s quiet and spacious, but it’s not. He’s completely alone, but still his mind is going in circles.

He had to leave his own room because Jefferson was taking up too much room. Not literally, of course, but when Jefferson is in the same room as him, it feels like there’s no room for anything or anyone else; it’s just the way he is. He walks like he’s the sun and everyone near him is the planets orbiting around him. If he walked into a party, you’d assume it was being thrown for him simply because of his arrogant, swaggering gait. Him, and his big hair and inane suits and overconfidence. _Him_. He did nothing but make Alexander’s life harder, and even when they’re apart, he’s making it impossible for Alex to write.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. He blinks owlishly and looks up to see Maria striding in with concern knit in her brows. “Alexander, it’s late. Are you okay?”

He struggles for a short second before replying, “I’m fine, I just didn’t sleep much last night.” He keeps his voice perfectly even and his expression passive. Everything is fine.

Maria narrows her eyes. “Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” She glances at his laptop and the blank page on the display. “You’ve been out here for a while.” Of course she’d have known. Maria works for the campus radio in AV room, across from the library, and their school has an affinity for big windows in the place of walls.

“I’m just getting ahead on my work.” He flashes her a grin and shuts his laptop. “I’ll go try to sleep now, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Maria gives him an uneasy smile in return. “You better sleep.” She says after a pregnant pause.

Alex knows she’ll tell everyone about his strange behaviour no matter what he does, so he bids Maria adieu and makes his way back to his room. (The room where Jefferson sleeps, not five feet from his own bed. Sometimes he worries that Jefferson’ll kill him in his sleep.)

He crawls under his thin blankets without bothering with pajamas; he knows this will be yet another sleepless night, why should he bother?

<><><><><><>

The next morning, there’s exhaustion set in his limbs, but his mind is surprisingly clear. He pretends Jefferson didn’t stare a half second too long at the dark purple circles under his eyes and makes his way to class, wondering briefly if his father will go easy on him today once he sees Alexander’s fatigue.

He doesn’t.

It’s the second week of the year, and Washington has kept up his class’s reputation as most difficult, while at the same time maintaining his status as nicest professor. Sometimes, though, Alexander wonders if his father tries to start arguments between him and Jefferson. Like today, for example, they had been talking about the nation’s banking system and ways it might be improved. Jefferson decided to be a complete asshole about it, barely offering any new information.

“You don’t have anything to say, you just shoot down everything I come up with!” He finally bursts out, throwing his arms up in resignation. His voice must’ve been louder than he realized, because Washington narrows his eyes and says, “Hamilton, Jefferson, take a walk.” Everyone knows that when Washington says to _take a walk_ , he means don’t come back. Alex storms out of the room, fuming. He only becomes more angry when he remembers that he can’t be alone in his room, not when Jefferson _lives there with him_.

When he finally arrives back in his room, he throws down his bag and attempts to leave again, laptop in hand, when Jefferson all but barges in. “Don’t go.” His voice is stiff and serious, which makes Alex slightly nervous. Jefferson has a carefree, flippant demeanor he wears constantly; to see him without it is a surprise, to say the least.

After a long moment, Alexander narrows his eyes and replies, “Why?”

“We need to be at least civil with each other if we have to live together.” Jefferson replies, speaking slowly as if choosing his words very carefully. His brows are narrowed, as if he’s thinking too hard about something. It’s not a good look on him.

Because he’s in an instigative mood, Alex says, “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for you?”

The thoughtful look is erased from Jefferson’s face, replaced by an expression of distaste and irritation. “I’m making an effort, Hamilton. Can you please stop being such an asshole for five minutes and listen to me?”

Alexander scoffs. “So I’m the asshole here. Great.” He’s feeling a little detached from himself in the way he does when he hasn’t slept for a few days. Maybe he would take this situation better if he were less tired and less anxious, but those two feelings had been a staple in his life as of late.

Jefferson glares at the wall behind him for a few minutes, arms crossed. Finally, he speaks up: “You know you can’t ignore me for nine months. I don’t want to hate you, but you’re making it pretty damn hard.”

Alexander sneers. “As if you don’t hate me already, you facetious ass.”

Jefferson lets out a huff of frustration. “God damn it, Hamilton, will you just listen to me for five goddamn seconds. Living here’s gonna be hell if we argue every waking moment, so can you just try?”

Jefferson has a point, Alexander knows. He knows it all too well; he’d not been looking forward to being at war with his roommate all year, but he doesn’t have the strength in him to give in, to do as Jefferson suggested, not now. Finally, Alexander says, “Sorry, Jefferson, no can do.” And he pushes past the other man, wondering what exactly went wrong. Whether it’s him or Jefferson he doesn’t know, but what he does know is this: he can’t stay in that room any longer, not for now. Jefferson is suffocating, stifling and Alexander can’t get him out of his head.

He finds himself en route to the library, a decision he didn’t consciously make. Before he pushes open the wide glass doors, he spots Hercules reading, curled up in one of the old, shabby but comfortable arm chairs. He bolts before he can be spotted. Hercules would notice something’s up and tell Lafayette, and Lafayette would hold an Anxiety Intervention, as Alex calls them. He’s fine, though, he just… well, he’s not exactly fine, but he can deal with this on his own. If he can just get his words back, if he can get writing again, he’ll feel better. He finds solace in the empty AV building, holing up in a dark room riddled with dust and equipment older than him. He figures no one will bother him here; he opens his empty google doc once again. He’s not ahead on his work, and he’ll be behind soon if this keeps up. The thought sends anxiety coursing through his veins, possessing his hands to shake and his mind to short out. It feels like bolts of electricity fraying his nerves and debilitating him, or like waves washing over him in his own personal tsunami, filling his lungs with toxic water and making it impossible to breath.

If he could just breath, for one minute, one moment, he might be able to get himself back on track. He might be able to get his words back.

<><><><><><>

Alexander leaves once he hears Maria’s voice from the other room; he sneaks away, unseen. He retreats back to his room, where Jefferson waits. Alex slips on his headphones and pretends he doesn’t know Jefferson is staring at him, it’s easier that way.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm blown away by your response everyone!! thank you for reading!!!
> 
> also: updates will be on thursdays, for now at least. school starts next month and i might get slowed down but i have a bunch of chapters pre-written so hopefully we'll be all good?? i'll cross that bridge when i get to it.

“Alex, the bags under your eyes are nice today.” John says, raising an eyebrow at him. It’s his way of asking when the last time Alexander slept was without saying it out loud.

 

“Thanks, they’re couture.” Alex quips, smiling. He hopes to send a message of _I’m okay and everything’s normal_ and not _I haven’t slept in three days and I’m having a hard time remembering what life was like when I was fully awake_. He berates himself; when he’s working, he can go for longer than this without sleep. Sure, it’s not healthy, but he can do it. Now, he’s all messed up and-

 

He shoves that train of thought away before it can leach its way into his brain. He’s torn from his thoughts when John remarks, “I didn’t see you in class all day after Washington kicked you out.”

 

Lafayette casts a sidelong glance at him, not at all aiming for subtlety. “I needed to cool down.” Alex defends himself, swatting John.

 

“It’s not like you to back down from a fight.” Laf reminds him, cocking his head.

 

“I didn’t!” Alex cries, because while this conversation is exhausting as all hell, he has a reputation to maintain. “I got back to our room and before I could leave again, he cornered me and shouted at me to be civil.” He snorts. “I’m not the one who needs to be reminded to be _civil_. He’s-”

 

“We get it.” Lafayette cuts him off, sharing a knowing look with the others. Alex narrows his eyes but doesn’t pursue the subject.

 

They fall silent now, all crowded together in Hercules and Laf’s small room. Alexander begins to wonder if he really means the words he’s saying, or if he’s just trying to copy the way he’s supposed to be, the way he usually is: witty, smart, and unable to shut up. He wishes desperately to have that back; usually, there’s a fire burning in his chest that motivates him to talk and talk and talk and talk, leaving a trail of flames in his wake.

 

“Alexander?” Lafayette demands, prodding his arm. Had they spoken to him?

 

“Hmm?” He says, looking up. Laf, John, and Hercules are all staring at him. What did he miss?

 

“I said, are you coming back to class today?” John asks, and he does something with his lips, sort of _purses_ them in a way that makes Alexander think of a disappointed mother. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Alex nods, grinning for good measure. “If we keep going in Dad’s class, I know exactly what to say now.” He goes on to bore his friends half to death with his rant, but at least they know - think - he’s back to normal.

 

Only Laf, Hercules, and John know Washington is his father, as well as the Schuylers and Maria. It’s something of a sore subject- Alex is often accused of being a teacher’s pet, and besides, he wants to win his arguments without people murmuring, _it’s just because his father is the professor_.

 

There’s a vague, incomplete thought floating around his head: maybe he should talk to his dad about this. Maybe, just maybe, his… condition, whatever it is, is getting worse than he thought it would. But he can’t. His father would tell Lafayette (the two were strangely close, which confused the hell out of Alex) and Lafayette would become overprotective (which was inevitable, but still annoying). He’s touched by his friends’ concern, but they can be so overbearing. (That’s what he tells himself, anyway. It’s the only acceptable reason.)

 

They make their way to class, finally. Only John is in Washington’s class with Alexander. Sometimes he wonders if his father chose that specifically so he doesn’t have to deal with all four of them at once.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alexander Hamilton is unusually quiet today.

 

The entire class notices, even Washington. Thomas has been attempting to provoke him, because what fun is Washington’s class without a debate with Hamilton?

 

Thomas scrutinizes him, as much as he can while sitting behind him. His hair is brushed but greasy. His clothes are the same ones he wore yesterday; he wonders if Hamilton even noticed. He’s almost never at their room, and Thomas wonders frequently where he goes. Is Hamilton running away from him, or is he really that busy? He suspects it’s the former, which does nothing to calm him down.

 

After their argument the previous day, Thomas has been feeling off. Not _bad_ off, but off all the same. Hamilton had been angry and brash, which was completely unlike his usual manner: suave, cool, and confident. Something was up, and Thomas was determined to find out what. That would be hard, though, if the man was completely unwilling to cooperate with him.

 

Maybe it would be easier to let the altercation go if he hadn’t been pining after Alexander Hamilton since the day they met.

 

He knew the feelings would never be reciprocated, of course. Hamilton hated him with fervor, and nothing he did could change that, no matter how much he wanted it.

 

After class, Hamilton hurries back to their room, clearly hoping to avoid Thomas. It’s not unexpected but stings all the same. Hamilton hesitates for a split second in the doorway, as if he thinks Thomas is going to try and stop him.

 

There’s a little ache in his chest, one that makes its appearance whenever Thomas looks at Hamilton. He swallows, hoping to push the ache down. Hamilton made his feelings very clear.

 

He doesn’t have a class now, so he makes his way to James’s room. James’s roommate shares his name: James Reynolds, a creep who is almost never at their dorm. Thomas had heard rumours about Maria Lewis getting mixed up with Reynolds a few years back. He wonders if they were true, and wonders what Reynolds did.

 

“Thomas.” James greets him. “What brings you here?” Thomas topples onto the bed beside his friend, who sighs. “What’s wrong now?”

 

Thomas stews for a few seconds, trying to come up with a way to explain himself without bursting out, “ _It’s Hamilton!”_ After several moments more of deliberation, he gives up and bursts out, “ _It’s Hamilton_!” James rolls his eyes. “What have I done? I don’t hate him, why does he hate me?”

 

James replies patiently, “It’s not hard to get the impression you hate him from the way you act around him.”

 

“I’m trying to be _nicer_ and he got angry at me for it!” Thomas snaps, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do, James.”

 

This is, give or take, the third time they’ve had this conversation, and James forbearingly sits through it each time. “Maybe Hamilton has some stuff of his own going on.” He suggests thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s mad at everyone.”

 

“I don’t know. It seems like it’s more than just anger. He didn’t talk at all in class today, even though I-”

 

“I know, I was there.”

 

The room quiets. Finally, Thomas mutters, “I hate crushes. Hamilton… ugh. Can’t he just fall in love with me already?”

 

James laughs. “That’s gay, Thomas.”

 

Thomas smirks. “I wonder why, Jemmy.” This is a running gag between them; both Thomas and James are gay as fuck. (They did have sex once, but decided they were better off as friends.)

 

Silence blankets the room and James picks up a book. Thomas reads over his shoulder. (They’ve been friends for too long to not have routines like this down.) His thoughts of Alexander Hamilton are silenced for the time being, and it’s something of a relief. After they’re a few chapters into the book, _Cinnamon Toast and the End of the World_ , James says, “You could talk to Angelica.”

 

It takes a few seconds for the sentence to register. Yes, Thomas is friends with Angelica Schuyler, but are they close enough for him to bring up something so consequential? Even if he did, who’s to say she wouldn’t go running to her friends, go running to Hamilton? He shudders at the thought. “I don’t think so.”

 

James scoffs. “Are you ever planning to tell him?”

 

Thomas huffs out a bitter laugh. “When hell freezes over, maybe.”

 

James sighs and closes his eyes before reopening the book.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex makes his money by working at the campus Starbucks; it’s alright on the best of days and soul-sucking on the worst. Today, though, Thomas Jefferson saunters in, wearing his ceaseless smirk. His smug expression falters when he sees Alexander at the counter, but he quickly grins again. He orders a chai latte, which is… completely normal. Ugh.

 

“I didn’t know you work here.” Jefferson says nonchalantly, looking around.

 

Alexander is briefly surprised at the casual small talk; eventually, he replies, “Was I supposed to tell you?”

 

There’s a flash of anger in Jefferson’s eyes as he coolly says, “Do you have to turn everything into a fight?”

 

“You’ve never been so averse to arguing with me.” Alexander observes. He _knows_ he’s egging Jefferson on, and he can’t stop himself. Something feels different this time, although he can’t exactly put his finger on it.

 

Jefferson tilts his head. “I like to be on good terms with the person I’m living with, Hamilton.”

 

“Too bad.” Alexander knows exactly how whiny he sounds, but says the words anyway. Though he knows it’s unfair, some part of him is angry at Jefferson for invading his workspace. It’s a completely public place, meant for people to visit, but it rubs Alex the wrong way.

 

Jefferson seems to make a decision in his mind, locking eyes with Alexander and all but hissing, “Go ahead, make both our lives hell if you want to. But what’s it gonna do? What’s arguing every second of every day gonna accomplish?” He seems to be gloating now. “We may have opposing political views, but you don’t hate me.” His voice is getting louder, and Alexander’s not sure if he even noticed. “You don’t hate me.” He says again, leaning on the counter so they’re eye to eye.

 

Alexander says nothing but, “Here’s your chai latte.”

 

Jefferson pays, and some girl stops him before he leaves. She’s clearly flirting with him, which makes Alex’s stomach twinge for reasons he can’t explain. He blames it on his anxiety. His mind wanders briefly: is Jefferson even interested in women? He terminates the thought immediately. It doesn’t matter.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alexander knows he’s the asshole. Jefferson is trying to reach a peace; Alexander is fighting back kicking and screaming. He’s too tired to think about it, though. Jefferson seems to have left: it’s nearing eleven p.m. and he’s gone. Alex assumes he’s gone to Madison’s room.

 

He finds himself taking out Lafayette’s old sweater. It’s still just as cozy, albeit a little musty from being packed away for so long.

 

Lafayette and Alex had dated for a few weeks before deciding they’d be better as friends. Alex likes to keep something from all of his exes (yes, he knows it’s weird) and he took Laf’s sweater. It’s gray and thick, created by some French clothing brand. It’s weirdly comforting to be swaddled in the thing. Maybe it’s because it reminds him of Laf, his best friend, or maybe it just reminds him of better times. Alex supposes it doesn’t really matter which it is, as long as it provides him some solace.

 

He falls asleep soon enough, and it’s a relief.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas returns to his room at half past midnight, opening the door gently in case Hamilton is asleep for once. He is, to Thomas’s great surprise. He’s only half covered by his blankets, and Thomas bites back the urge to pull the covers up. He’s wrapped up in some fluffy gray sweater, and the sight is absolutely adorable. That is, until Thomas looks closer. It’s difficult to see in the near pitch darkness, but Hamilton’s face is contorted in distress. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and he seems to be curling up.

 

Fleetingly, Thomas considers waking him up, but decides against it. He has no experience navigating nightmares, and even less experience navigating the mind of Alexander Hamilton. Instead, he quietly changes into his pajamas and tries to sleep. Tomorrow, he can pretend this night never happened. Now, though, he indulges in a farfetched fantasy of comforting Hamilton from his nightmare. In his exhausted state, it almost seems like it might happen someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this chapter, everyone, i hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> EDIT: so, i'm dumb. i have alex working at starbucks in this chapter but after this i completely forgot about it. i only remembered it at like chapter eight and i didn't really have any opportunity to add it into the fic, so like... in the future lets pretend he still DOES work there, but like. not on screen. (on screen??? i dont know the right phrase) i'll find a way to add it in later, but im on chapter nine and its not lookin good so


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point i have up to chapter 10 written and like 8 more chapters planned so theres that. also: i have a weird feeling there was something i rly wanted to edit with this chapter but after reading it over a few times i found nothing, so if theres any weird plot holes, sorry

Alexander feels empty, like a worn out husk. This feeling is not unfamiliar. It happens after all of his nightmares, which is fairly often. He opens his eyes, finally, to see Jefferson curled up in his bed. At that moment, he seems small, which is unusual for a six-foot-tall giant. 

 

He checks the time, and it’s only four thirteen a.m. He’s not going to try to go back to sleep, it’s pointless. He considers himself lucky to have gotten nearly five hours.

 

He texts Lafayette, because he knows if he doesn’t, he’ll be inexplicitly interrogated about his wellbeing. His friends know something’s up, but if he’s careful around them, they’ll leave him alone. 

 

**Me:** _got five hours of sleep tonight_

 

To his surprise, the bubble that means Lafayette is typing appears.

 

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ good!!!!!!!  _

**Me:** _ whats your excuse for being up??? _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

 

Alexander rolls his eyes. When he doesn’t reply, Lafayette clarifies,

 

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _i was having sex. with hercules._

**Me:** _ i got that thanks _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) _

 

Alexander should never have shown Laf the lenny face. It was a mistake he’ll regret for years to come, he knows it.

 

He puts his phone down again and sits up, leaning against the wall. He can’t do much without waking up Jefferson, so he quietly tiptoes out of the room with no real destination.

 

He doesn’t have class today, so he wanders the empty hallways. There’s a ghostly aura permeating the corridors that only makes its appearance at this hour of the morning, when next to no one is awake and gray dawn light is filtering through the windows. It’s nice, almost. He stops at one of the many wide windows (seriously, what school needs this many windows?) and looks down at the morning sky. He can see a faint reflection in the glass: messy hair, dark undereye circles, dirty jeans, and a well-worn sweater with french emblazoned on the front. The sweater gives him a jolt; he’d forgotten he’s wearing it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he should take it off. His friends know he only wears the sweater when he’s feeling shitty. (He does that with all the mementos he’s stolen from his exes: Eliza’s nailpolish, John’s snapback.)

 

He meanders away from the window, lost in thought. Hours pass, and he finds himself back in the library. Hercules is there again, reading. Alexander picks a random book from the fiction section and sits beside Hercules, flipping the page every few minutes so it seems like he’s actually paying attention to the book.

 

After a few minutes of insufferable silence, Hercules sighs, closing his book. “What is it, Alexander?”

 

“I’m bored.” He announces, throwing his book aside. Hercules stares at the book with concern for a moment before observing, 

 

“You’re wearing Gil’s sweater.” 

 

Hercules is the only one who calls Lafayette by his first name. (Or, one of his first names. No one can remember Lafayette’s full name.)

 

Shitfuck. Alex had forgotten about that. Now, he had to explain why he was feeling upset. “Jefferson fought with me at work yesterday.” He lets some emotion bleed into his voice. 

 

Hercules looks doubtful. “That’s never made you so upset before.”

 

“It’s just… in class, he’s there arguing with me and then I go back to my room and he’s there, too. Then he comes to my work and starts another argument?” He’s not even lying anymore. He hates having to seek out hiding spots around campus to have some peace and quiet. 

 

Hercules nods. “Alright. You know you can talk to us whenever you need to?” Alexander nods. The gesture is touching, but he knows he won’t do it. His anxiety is just acting up. More than usual, sure, but… he’s not going to talk to his friends about it. He can’t and he won’t.

 

Hercules checks his phone. “Gil wants to have breakfast with me. Goodbye, Alex.” He stands up and begins to leave. Alexander retorts, “You must be hungry, you’ve had a wild night.” He waggles his eyebrows. Hercules turns around to wink at him before leaving for good. 

 

He’s putting away his own and Hercules’s books when he hears it: the quiet pitter-patter of rain on the roof. It’s completely harmless, he tells himself.

 

If it’s so harmless, why does it frighten him so? 

 

He hopes it doesn’t escalate into a full-on storm, he doesn’t know if he can deal with a storm. Even the thought of the loud thunderclaps and roiling dark clouds is unnerving. He considers interrupting Hercules and Laf’s breakfast to have their support in the instance of a storm, but ultimately decides against it. It doesn’t look too bad out, and the rain is quiet now.

 

Alexander begins making his way back to his dorm to locate his headphones. He’ll crank up his music to block out the rain, and it’ll all be fine, he assures himself. Still, he finds himself speeding up, and he’s nearly halfway there when the rain picks up. He can see it vividly in his mind: fat droplets unrelentlessly buffeting the ground, swallowing the earth up and-

 

He’s running now, running as fast as his legs will take him, and he bursts through the door to his room just as he hears the first crash of thunder; he’s only dimly aware of Jefferson in the room with him. He collapses on the ground in front of his bed, but he’s barely aware of the shock of pain that accompanies hitting the ground. The storm is so  _ loud _ , where’s John, where’s Laf, or Eliza, or anyone? 

 

There’s a pair of arms around him, and Alexander recalls yearning for his mother in the aftermath of the hurricane, before he came to America. He doesn’t remember much of his mother, she died when he was thirteen. 

 

He’s not sure how long it takes for him to break free of his memories. All he knows is that when he returns to the present, he’s wrapped up in Thomas Jefferson’s embrace. Jefferson’s mess of curls is brushing against his face. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. The rain has gone down; the quiet sound of it softly hitting the roof mocks him. 

 

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Jefferson murmurs. “Lafayette and Eliza are on their way.” But if Laf and Eliza are coming, they’ll make Jefferson leave… and he’s so  _ warm _ and _ safe _ . Jefferson keeps whispering quiet reassurances, and Alexander leans into him. It almost makes him forget about the storm. (Almost.)

 

Finally, the door bursts open with a noise that makes him flinch. Eliza apologizes profusely and begins to say, “Thomas, you should-” Alex shakes his head. The thought of talking makes bile rise in his throat, so he hopes Eliza understands him. 

 

“Alex?” Laf asks softly. Alex is too tired for this, he doesn’t  _ want _ to talk, but everything he’s been feeling for the past few weeks rushes back to him. Before he knows it, there’s tears flooding his cheeks and it’s  _ mortifying _ . Jefferson is running his fingers through Alex’s hair and it feels so nice but it’s  _ Jefferson _ , the man who was half the cause of his problems in the first place. Still, he doesn’t want it to stop. 

 

“Hamilton,” Jefferson begins, then hesitates. “Alexander, it’s okay. The storm’s over now.” 

 

Lafayette frowns. “I think it is more than the storm.” The tears come harder, they’re getting on Jefferson’s likely expensive shirt, but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

 

After what feels like forever, Alexander swallows. “I’m sorry.” His voice is rough and hoarse. 

 

He thinks Laf and Eliza are sitting in front of him now, but he can’t see them very well. His face is half-pressed into Jefferson’s chest and he doesn’t feel like moving.

 

“Don’t apologize.” Eliza tells him quietly. “You did nothing wrong.”

 

“I…” He doesn’t know where to start. There’s so much going on in his head, how is he supposed to even begin to explain it? After minutes of silence, what comes out is, “I can’t write.” Suddenly, everything comes spilling out. He’s rambling on and on and he can almost  _ feel _ them judging him. Jefferson’s arms tighten around him, and inexplicably, it makes him feel just a little bit better.

 

When there’s nothing else to say, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. It’s like there’s a weight lifted off his chest; it’s easier to breathe. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Eliza has left with Hamilton, and Thomas feels a loss where there used to be a warm body pressed against him. Now, it’s just him and Lafayette, who looks half sad and half murderous; it makes Thomas nervous, though he’d never let it show.

 

“Alex has many self-destructive tendencies.” Lafayette begins, choosing his words carefully. “He needs to be monitored, or else he will stay up for six days straight and work himself to death. He hates to hear it, but he can’t really function on his own.” Lafayette pauses and meets Thomas’s eyes. “You,” he says pointedly, “need to help him.”

 

That’s not what he was expecting. When Alexander was talking, he made it clear that so many of his problems had stemmed from living with Thomas, which was painful to hear. “Hamilton made it sound like it’s my fault.” He says cautiously.

 

Lafayette’s eyes soften. “I don’t think it was you. I think he was looking for something to blame. He’s, he hasn’t been this bad in a long time. I think you can help him.”

 

Thomas? Helping Hamilton? “He hates me.”

 

Lafayette shrugs. “Maybe he thinks he does. If he hated you, he would not have refused to let go of you, would he?”

 

Thomas nods. It’s true; maybe Hamilton doesn’t hate him as much as he thought. 

 

Lafayette begins to speak again: “I know you probably don’t want to, but you need to watch over Alexander. If he’s acting like this, or he’s not sleeping, you have to talk to him. He thinks he can manage on his own but he can’t and he doesn’t always tell us about it.”

 

“I don’t mind.” Thomas assures him quickly. If James were here, he’d say, “Thomas, your gay is showing.”

 

Lafayette smiles. “Good. I think things will be much better now.” Suddenly, he adds, “That gray sweater he’s wearing? He only wears it when he feels shitty. And the same with his nailpolish. And he has this hat-”

 

“I think I’ll be fine.” Thomas cuts him off. “I’ll tell you if he acts up again.”

 

Lafayette looks like he wants to say more, but instead settles for, “Thank you. Goodbye, Thomas.”

 

He waits a few minutes after Lafayette leaves to process it all: Alexander Hamilton has mental health issues, Alexander Hamilton found comfort in Thomas, Lafayette trusts Thomas enough to take care of Alexander Hamilton, who most likely doesn’t hate Thomas as much as he’d previously thought. 

 

He rushes to James’s room, fighting to keep a dopey grin off of his face.

 

“Thomas, what are you-”

 

“ _ James _ , guess what just happened.” 

 

James laughs. “Everyone thinks you’re so suave and confident, and yet you come running through the halls to tell me about something about your crush.”

 

Thomas frowns. “I didn’t say it was about Hamilton.” James raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Thomas sighs with defeat. “Fine. But just listen, okay?” He goes on to explain what happened in great detail. He thinks he might be boring James half to death, but he doesn’t care. He finishes his story with, “Yes, he had a mental breakdown, but  _ James oh my god _ .”

 

James closes his eyes. “Maybe you finally have a chance with him.” The  _ and you can stop bothering me about it _ is left unsaid. “Also, he might still dislike you. He’s probably embarrassed about the whole thing.”

 

Thomas frowns. James is right, of course. But Hamilton will warm up to him eventually, right? He has to. Thomas had been  _ trying _ to tell him they need to get along before… before all this happened.

 

After minutes of thoughtful silence, James suggests, “Come on, let’s keep reading.” 


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey,, pals,,, i know i said updates are on thursdays but im impatient and crave validation so updates are twice a week!!!! thursdays and sundays!!!! or i may just abandon an updating schedule altogether!! depends how much i can pace myself. who knows. the updating schedule will... probably change again. it depends how fast i can write. im on chapter 13 now, of 21.
> 
> also, a note, this is been my shortest chapter to date, though only by a hundred words or so.
> 
> anyway!!!! enough of my rambling, enjoy!!

He can’t believe it. In his haze, he’d hung on to  _ Thomas Jefferson _ for comfort. Jefferson would never let it go. He’s appalled with himself. How could he let that happen, and how could he actually  _ enjoy _ it? Jefferson is his mortal enemy, his sworn rival. They’ve always hated each other, and always will. Except… maybe Alexander doesn’t hate him. It’s difficult to find it in himself to hate a man whose shirt he just ruined with his tears.

 

“Alex, are you okay?” Eliza demands. “You’re getting lost in your head again.”

 

“I’m fine.” he spits out automatically. Eliza looks taken aback, so he mutters, “Sorry.”

 

“Alex, you gotta let us help you.” She says, sitting beside him on her unmade bed. “We worry about you.”

 

“I know, I know.” He sighs. “Where’s John?” He misses John, John is happy and constant and he always cheers Alex up. 

 

“He’s on his way, I texted him.” Angie pipes up. 

 

Half of him expected to feel completely better after getting it all out, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. All the baggage he’s been carrying around is still there, but it feels less burdensome. He feels deflated, and he’s not sure he likes it.

 

John opens the door and sits on Alex’s other side. “Are you okay?” He looks like he’s bursting with other questions, and Alex almost smiles. John and Laf are such mother hens. 

 

He nods. “Better now.” He leans on John, who puts his arm around him. 

 

“You should’ve talked to us.” John murmurs.

 

“I know, I know.” He’s not sure when people will stop telling him  _ he should’ve said something _ . He  _ knows _ that, but it’s not always so easy.

 

“I wanted to go see you right away,” John says quietly, “but we figured you didn’t want to be crowded.” Alex nods, they were right. Too many people at once would have worsened the situation more than improve it. “What happened?”

 

If he begins to talk about everything that went on, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop, so he says simply, “I don’t think I hate Jefferson.”

 

John makes a small half-smile, which Alex wasn’t expecting. “I know.”

 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Alex asks meekly after a moment of silence. He doesn’t like asking, but physical contact makes him feel a lot better, and on his own he doesn’t find himself getting much sleep tonight.

 

“Yeah.” John agrees. Suddenly, he takes out his phone. “Look, Washington told me he walked in on Herc and Laf in one of the supply closets.”

 

Alex laughs. “Why do you talk to my dad? Isn’t there rules against fraternizing with students or something?”

 

John shrugs. “It gives us more gossip material. Besides, your dad is nicer to us in class if we give him info on the students.” It’s true; Alex’s dad likes to mess with his students for his own amusement. Not in a way anyone will notice, though. He does have a reputation to keep up.

 

Laf arrives in the room with Hercules close behind him. John and Alex look at each other and laugh, while everyone else looks on with confusion. 

 

It’s good to feel normal again.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Burr comes back to his room late after a night out with Theodosia. He’s exhausted and just about collapses in his bed, but not before noticing that there’s two people in John’s bed instead of one. The body that John is curled around, he discovers after careful inspection, is none other than Alexander Hamilton. 

 

Huh.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex is painting his nails wine red. It’s his favourite of all of the nail polish he’d stolen from Eliza over the course of their relationship. His nails are ragged from biting them, a nervous habit, but he wants to paint them anyway. It makes him feel better, makes him feel like he has his life together. 

 

He’s carefully painting his ring finger when Jefferson strides into the room. He glances at Alex for half a moment before sniffing the air. Alex moves onto his pinky as Jefferson says, “Can I open the window? That shit smells awful.” And Alex wants to say something clever in response, start an argument, because that’s what he’s familiar with, but he’s too  _ tired _ . 

 

“Go ahead.” He replies, blowing on the paint to help it dry. A draft of air hits Alex. Almost without his own volition, he blurts out, “Can you do my right hand?”

 

Jefferson freezes. “What?”

 

Alex raises an eyebrow. Jefferson had been acting a lot nicer than usual, even before The Incident, but this is the first time he’s ever been  _ speechless _ , and over such a little thing. “Can you paint the nails on my right hand?” 

 

Jefferson swallows. “I’ve never painted anyone’s nails before.” Alex keeps staring at him until he says, “Fine.”

 

They’re sitting across from each other on Alex’s bed, and Jefferson takes the bottle of polish from Alex with unsteady hands. Alex puts his hand forward, grinning. This is completely unlike the Jefferson he knows, and he only feels a little bad for wanting to laugh. 

 

Jefferson isn’t very good at it, but then again, Alex hadn’t expected him to be. In truth, he’s not exactly sure why he asked. He could’ve managed alright on his own, and he’s still sort of embarrassed about the previous day’s debacle. It sure messed Jefferson up pretty well, though. There’s no longer an air of tension palpable between them, but now it just unbearably awkward. Maybe that’s why Alex says, “For someone so supposedly fashionable, you’re not very good at this.”

 

Jefferson slows down, almost minutely. “Remind me, which one of us asked for help, again?” His voice is dripping with sarcasm.

 

“I’m sorry, did I offend you?” He retorts innocently. He’s not exactly sure why he’s doing this. Maybe it’s to get a rise out of Jefferson, maybe it’s just to fix their dynamic.

 

Jefferson snorts. “If you want to offend me, you’re gonna have to try harder than that, Hamilton.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Alexander asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

Jefferson stops, looking up. “Don’t start this now.” He sounds deeply dissatisfied and irritated, as if this conversation is the worst thing he’s ever had the misfortune to experience. 

 

“Why not?” Alex counters, narrowing his eyes. “Do you want it to be awkward between us for the rest of our lives?”

 

“Isn’t there an in between? Why does it have to be fighting or nothing?” Jefferson snaps, tightening his grip on Alex’s wrist. 

 

“Why do you care so much? Why does what happened yesterday have to change everything?” Alex is genuinely angry now. Jefferson has never cared before. Is he taking pity on him? 

 

“If  _ what happened yesterday _ didn’t change anything, you’d be in a pretty shitty place right now, Alexander, now will you  _ please  _ shut the fuck up and let me help you?” They’ve fought hundreds of times, in class and out, and yet Alex has never, not once, seen Jefferson this angry.

 

“Don’t call me that.” Alexander spits. “You don’t get to call me that.”

 

They fall silent. Jefferson’s hands are shaking slightly when he moves onto Alex’s middle finger. 

 

They’re trapped in an uneasy, tense silence, until Jefferson mutters, “I know what you mean, you know. About everything changing.” He freezes up as he says it, which strikes Alex as odd. 

 

“Do you?” 

 

Jefferson closes his eyes. “You think I’d fucking lie?” He sighs. “Yeah, Hamilton, if you were ever here in the morning, maybe you’d have noticed that I have to take antidepressants.” He sounds bitter, but that barely registers. Thomas Jefferson is depressed? Alex goes rigid as his mind goes into overdrive, unable to process it. It… doesn’t make sense. There’s a million and one thoughts churning in his head. Now, he’s never going to see Jefferson the same way again. Everything’s going to change, and maybe that’s Jefferson’s point.

 

<><><><><><>

 

He doesn’t know why he says it. He doesn’t owe Hamilton anything, and yet he finds himself muttering, “I know what you mean, you know. About everything changing.” He doesn’t even  _ mean _ to say it, but now that the words are out of his mouth, he has to go on.

 

Hamilton has the audacity to say, “Do you?” 

 

Thomas closes his eyes tiredly. Why does Hamilton have to turn everything into a fight? “You think I’d fucking lie? Yeah, Hamilton, if you were ever here in the morning, maybe you’d have noticed I have to take antidepressants.” It comes out unintentionally bitter and aggrieved. He opens his eyes once more to find Hamilton frozen, a look that can only be described as stunned on his face. He begins to blink rapidly as the light returns to his dazed eyes, and it’s sort of terrifying. Thomas honestly hadn’t meant to mention it, not now, not ever, and already he’s regretting it. Hamilton’s going to despise him, he’s going to-

 

“I’m sorry.” Hamilton says, which is a fairly stupid answer. 

 

“It’s not your fault.” Jefferson retorts, beginning to work on Hamilton’s nails again.

 

“I know it’s a shitty thing to say, but I am.”

 

“You’re right, it is shitty.” Thomas snaps. He finishes Hamilton’s nails. It  _ is _ a nice colour, and maybe in another, happier world, he’d ask Hamilton to do his nails.

 

The frigid, tense atmosphere is back in the room, and Thomas is relieved when Hamilton says, “I can’t do anything while these dry, can you put on the TV?”

 

Thomas nods, and everything seems so much simpler.

 

<><><><><><>

 

The TV is background noise now. Both Alexander and Jefferson are playing around on their phones; Jefferson seems to be playing some game with mild disinterest. Alex is texting John:

 

 **johnny:** _fuck alex help me_

**Me:** _ whats wrong what happened i dont feel like driving anywhere _

**johnny:** _ no nothing like that _

**johnny:** _ i just had some gay thoughts _

**Me:** _ john i hate to remind you but we have had sex before i think gay thoughts are not abnormal _

**johnny:** _ about laf _

**johnny:** _ and herc _

**johnny:** _?????????? :((((( what do i do now im gonna feel weird around them _

**Me:** _ you could tell them _

**Me:** _ they offered me a threesome once _

**Me:** _ besides how could they refuse you and your freckles _

**johnny:** _ but its not just sex ughhhhhhhhhhh feelings are stupid _

**Me:** _ id invite you over but jefferson is here _

**johnny:** _ you can come here burr is off doing something idk how long hes gonna be gone tho _

**Me:** _ ill be there in 5 _

 

Before he leaves, he says to Jefferson, “I’m going to John’s.” Jefferson nods before looking down at his phone once again. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

As Hamilton leaves, Thomas’s phone chimes. It’s a text from James:

 

**Jemmy:** _ burr just texted me something weird that may be of interest to you _

**Me:** _ What is it? _

**Jemmy:** _ apparently hamilton slept over with john laurens last night? he wasn’t very specific but apparently they were like cuddling up together or something _

**Me:** _ Shit _

**Me:** _ He just said he was going to John’s room. What if they’re dating James?? _

**Jemmy:** _ the evidence is there but I don’t think they are _

**Me:** _ You don’t know that!!! _

**Jemmy:** _ nice to know you trust my judgement. anyway it’s just a vibe yknow?  _

**Me:** _ They slept in the same bed. _

**Jemmy:** _ you and I have shared a bed  _

**Me:** _ Just let me be sad okay  _

**Jemmy:** _ want me to come over if hamilton’s gone?? _

**Me:** _ Yes please _

 

Just when Thomas thinks he and Hamilton might finally be able to get along,  _ this _ comes up.

 

Ugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, everyone should see [this image](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/c5/71/48/c57148908e14530ef59432fbe8b696e7.jpg). thanks for reading and your comments make me so happy, i love you guys.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, now i have all twenty chapters done and i've just started the epilogue. (you may be thinking: _wow_ , last chapter she only had thirteen chapters finished. she must be lying!! or insane!! let me tell you i'm not lying but i can't promise i'm not insane. writing is stressful and my mental health is not stable enough for me to stop myself from ceaselessly working on this project. all the time. jfc. ))))):
> 
> anyways. you may have noticed that i changed the total amount of chapters from 22 to 21 and that's because i at first had two epilogues bc i couldn't decide which i liked better but i've decided that the first epilogue will just be a later installment and i'll make this a series.
> 
> ALSO: thank you guys so much ahhhhh!!! more than 100 kudos and 1200 hits??? yall are the best!!
> 
> ALSO ALSO: i talk about the federal banking system in this chapter. everything about it that i say i completely made up bc im a canadian who doesnt understand politics.
> 
> now i'll stop talking!!! enjoy this chapter!!!

“What the  _ fuck _ .” Alexander mutters.

 

“I thought you didn’t hate him?” John reminds him, holding back a laugh.

 

Alex huffs. “I don’t, but he’s such an  _ idiot _ when it comes to politics! Like, you were there last week when he-”

 

John cuts him off. “Just don’t kill each other, it’ll be fine.”

 

Washington has paired up Alex and Jefferson, because Alex’s dad hates him, or something. Which. No.

 

At this point, it’s not even that Jefferson is an asshole, it’s that they’re so diametrically opposed. They’ll never agree on anything and nothing will get done. It’s inevitable. 

 

“The federal banking system-”

 

“Fucked over the poor and reduced our country to shambles.” Jefferson snaps. 

 

“I’m surprised you care that much, Jefferson, seeing as you have a fucking mansion in Virginia filled with couches made of cash-”

 

“Just because I’ve got money doesn’t mean I’m some fucking elitist dickhead, Hamilton. I can’t believe you support this. You know as well as I do our country’s gonna go to shit after the election-”

 

“I know that, but we’re not talking about the future, we’re talking about how it’s affected America in the  _ past _ . The bank revolutionized the country-”

 

“Many people were  _ opposed _ to it when it was first proposed, and with good reason, too. It-”

 

The argument goes on until the end of class, and it almost continues as they make their way back to their dorm, but Washington glares at them, and even the strongest person withers beneath Washington’s stone cold stare.

 

When they’re back in their room, Alex sighs, “Why would he put us together?”

 

“I have no idea, but it was pretty damn stupid.” Jefferson retorts. “Netflix?”

 

“Yeah, go ahead. What are you going to watch?” 

 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I was thinking Rent?”

 

Which. Wow. It takes so, so much willpower to cry out, “Actual reality, act up, fight AIDs!” He instead says, “Yeah, sure.”

 

As Jefferson sets up the movie, Alex gets a text from his mom, Martha Washington.

 

**mom:** _ I have to cancel lunch on the weekend dear I’m getting sick and I don’t want you to catch anything!! George told me what happened with you feel better soon!! xx _

Alex rolls his eyes. Of course one of his friends told his dad about the incident.

 

**Me:** _ sorry to hear that get well soon _

**Me:** _ im doing a lot better now  _

**Me:** _ ill call you sometime this week to make up for lunch _

**mom:** _ Of course! What are you up to? _

**Me:** _ im about to watch rent with thomas jefferson isnt that crazy??? _

**mom:** _ Really? Are the two of you finally getting along? Well if you’re going to watch the movie I’ll get out of your hair! I love you talk to you soon! _

**Me:** _ bye mom love you too _

 

He puts his phone down just as the movie begins. He sees Jefferson mouthing along to the words of  _ Seasons of Love _ , which is unexpected but it makes Alex happy all the same, for reasons he can’t exactly explain.

 

He concentrates on the movie for a while, until  _ Tango: Maureen _ comes on and he hears Jefferson ever so quietly singing along. “ _ The tango Maureen, it’s a dark dizzy merry-go-round _ …” Why is it so distracting? He just wants to concentrate on the movie. Jefferson’s admittedly excellent singing should  _ not _ be grabbing at his attention. Anthony Rapp and Tracie Thomas tangoing to a song about their tangled love lives is much more pressing than Thomas Jefferson, right? Except, Jefferson is  _ really  _ good.

 

Ugh.

 

He almost completely successfully ignores Jefferson until  _ La Vie Boheme _ , at which point he begins to sing along  _ and _ bob his head, which is frankly unfair. (Why it’s unfair is indiscernible at this point, but still.)

 

It’s at one of Alex’s favourite parts of the song, “Bisexuals, trisexuals, homo sapiens, carcinogens, hallucinogens, men-” (he can’t help but sing along) that he’s struck with the foreign and completely unwelcome realization: he’s currently overcome by the urge to touch Jefferson’s hair.

 

He tries to push it down, because come  _ on _ , why is this happening to him? It’s hard enough living with Jefferson  _ without _ having weird… hair-fantasies about him.

 

Ugh.

 

He’s only half paying attention to the movie, that is until Angel dies, which Alex hadn’t taken into consideration when he’d agreed to watching the movie. See, Alex cries very easily during movies, and Angel is his favourite character, so it’s not his fault if he’s sniffling quietly by the reprise of  _ I’ll Cover You _ . He glances warily at Jefferson, who’s looking back at him. When he sees Alex meet his eyes, he hastily redirects his attention to the movie. Huh.

 

The rest of the movie is a bit of a blur, partially due to the tears that are marring Alex’s vision. When the credits finally roll, there’s an unbearably awkward silence, so he says, “You’d totally be Mimi.”

 

“If you’re trying to insult me, you’re failing epically. Mimi Marquez is everything I strive to be.” Jefferson retorts. 

 

“A stripper?”

 

“Confident.”

 

Which is an odd thing to say, because Thomas Jefferson is the  _ definition _ of confidence, but he doesn’t say anything. 

 

“You would be Maureen.” Jefferson says after a pause.

 

“I wish. I’d do anything to be able to do  _ Over the Moon _ .” Alex sighs. “I love Maureen.”

 

“She cheats, though. She kind of ruined Joanne’s life.” Jefferson points out.

 

“She’s a great artist, though.” Alex argues. They fall silent for a few minutes, before Jefferson asks quietly, “Have you ever cheated, Hamilton?”

 

Well, this is unexpected. “Yes.” 

 

Jefferson narrows his eyes. “Really?”

 

Alex puts his hands up. “Just let me explain!” He can’t believe he’s about to tell Thomas Jefferson all of this. “Eliza and I dated in first year, and we were good together, but I was stupid. I cheated on her with Maria Lewis, who’s our friend now, but that’s for later. Anyway, it’s around this point I realize that I’m gay, and I also broke it off with Maria because of that. I figured I should tell Eliza about Maria, and that was a huge shitshow, as you can imagine. Can you imagine telling your girlfriend, ‘Hey, sorry, I cheated on you with another woman but then I realized I’m gay so I have to break up with you’.” He sighs. “So Eliza and her sisters were furious with me for a while, and then Eliza realizes she’s  _ also _ gay and started dating Maria. Eliza found out that Maria’s ex-boyfriend James Reynolds was manipulating Maria for the whole affair with me, though I know that doesn’t excuse what I did. We eventually made up, somehow, I was sure they’d hate me forever.” 

 

Jefferson raises his eyebrows. “That’s shitty.”

 

“What about you?” Alex asks curiously. A few months ago, he’d have assumed Jefferson is the sort of person to cheat, but now, he’s changed his opinion.

 

“Of course not, I have some respect.” He replies. 

 

Against his better judgement, Alex blurts out, “Have you ever been in love?”

 

“Once.” Is all Thomas says, a little wistfully. “Have you?”

 

“Twice.” He answers. He’d been in love with Eliza, even when he’d cheated on her. He felt a pang of guilt thinking about it, but pushed it down. He’d also been in love with John, for most of the year they dated. They’d broken up because they’d fallen out of love. It wasn’t that they were arguing, or couldn’t stand each other, they just… couldn’t make the relationship work anymore. He smiles a little thinking about it.

 

He wonders who Jefferson was in love with. Was it a man or a woman? How old had he been at the time? What did they look like? Why did they break up? He shoves those thoughts away. It’s not his business, and it’s no use puzzling over it. 

 

There’s a heavy silence in the air that Alex is slightly afraid to break, so he turns on his phone to find a text from John and three from Lafayette.

 

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ come over to my room i am bored _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ alex what are you doing everyone is in here except you _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ alexander whatever you are doing better be important _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ (ง'̀-'́)ง _

**johnny:** _ wtf are you doing you never have your phone off _

 

It’s true, he always has his phone on him. He quickly texts back:

 

**Me:** _ sorry laf i was watching a movie i had my phone off _

 

Laf responds immediately.

 

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ you do not like watching movies on your own!! you don’t even like watching movies!! come over now so i can yell at you!! _

**Me:** _ im not alone i watched it with jefferson _

**Me:** _ it was rent anyway i love rent you know i love rent  _

**Me:** _ also i wanted to touch his hair???? wtf the fuck _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ well everyone’s leaving now dont even bother _

 

Alex frowns at his phone. That was… weird.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I told him everyone is leaving.” Lafayette says, as everyone stays in place, very much not leaving.

 

“We’re not, though.” Eliza points out. “Why?”

 

Lafayette exchanges A Look with Hercules. “He was watching Rent. With Thomas Jefferson.” 

 

“...Jefferson?” Angie asks doubtfully.

 

“And!” Lafayette continues, grinning, “He said he wanted to touch his hair.”

 

Everyone stares at him. Finally, John says, “Woah.”

 

“So Alex likes Jefferson?” Peggy says.

 

“Not just  _ likes _ .” Lafayette replies, waggling his eyebrows. Then, he frowns. “He doesn’t know it yet, because Alex is dumb. Don’t say anything.”

 

“He needs to figure it out for himself.” Hercules adds.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alexander kept staring at him during Rent, which might have been a good sign, if not for the fact that he’s most likely dating John Laurens. He can’t make Hamilton cheat again. He’ll talk to James about it soon, they’re going out to the city for dinner. The food on campus is, frankly, revolting and he needs to give his tastebuds a much-needed break.

 

Speaking of, he texts James and pulls on[ his jacket, a red number with a matching red (polka dotted) tie](http://67.media.tumblr.com/e058303e0d5d9f48ea8cf5a20ba6c808/tumblr_o8oqoepS601v7rwz4o5_400.jpg). “I’m going out with James.” he says to Hamilton. “I’ll see you later.”

 

He’s met with silence, so he turns around to see Hamilton staring at him incredulously. “Seriously?” He cries. “You’re leaving in  _ that _ ?”

 

“There’s this thing I like to call  _ fashion _ , you may have heard of it, Hamilton. Although, I doubt you actually know anything  _ about _ it.” He retorts. 

 

Hamilton frowns. “If you want to damage the eyes of everyone around you, go ahead, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

He glares. “I think everyone’s already blind from having to see your face, thank you very much. Goodbye, Hamilton.” 

 

“Bye.”

 

Thomas lied, of course, Alexander Hamilton’s face is a sight to behold, and he could very well wax poetic about it for ages, but James gets gets annoyed with him when he does that. 

 

He’s glad he and Hamilton’s dynamic is back to normal. Before they became roommates and everything changed, Hamilton used to insult Thomas’s fashion frequently. It was annoying, and if you’d told him a year before that he’d be  _ glad _ to have Hamilton disparage his clothing, he’d have laughed. Now, though…

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex is staying with John for the night again. He still can’t face the idea of sleeping alone and lying awake for hours with only his thoughts for company. 

 

He thinks he should tell Jefferson why he hasn’t been in their room for the past few nights, but it’d be a little awkward. “Yeah, I can’t sleep alone right now so I’m sleeping with my best friend/ex-boyfriend.” 

 

He wonders if Jefferson is dating James Madison. They’re very close, but somehow, it seems unlikely. The thought of Jefferson dating anyone makes him unexplainably uncomfortable.

 

He shrugs it off; it doesn’t matter. 

 

He arrives in John’s room. Burr is gone again, which Alex is thankful for. He’s kind of a dick.

 

John’s waiting for him with a grin plastered on his face. “What happened?” Alex asks. John’s smile is infectious, and he can’t help smiling with him, even though he doesn’t know what they’re smiling about.

 

“I was leaving Laf’s room earlier, when you were watching Rent, and he  _ kissed me on the cheek and Hercules winked at me _ . I think they know. I don’t know how, but I think they know.”

 

John’s weird crush on Hercules and Lafayette is a bit of a mystery to Alex, but if they’re reciprocating, he’s happy for all three of them. “That’s great!” He smirks. “Have they offered to-”

 

John laughs and swats him affectionately. “Shut up, Alex. C’mon, let’s go to sleep, I’m tired.” Alex nods and he climbs into bed after John, sighing with happiness as John curls around him. Sleep comes easily that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!! comments make my day and ily all!!! (also. im something of a Broadway Nerd and it's starting to show in this chapter. rent is nowhere near the only musical referenced in this fic. be prepared.)


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i am so impatient and i rly want to post a chapter every day or two but ... i shouldnt

**johnny:** _ hey i wont be in my room tonight _

**johnny:** _ ill be with laf and herc  _

**johnny:** _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) _

**Me:** _ woah!!!!!!!!!!!!!! how did it happen tell me everything omg _

**johnny:** _ idk honestly???? but like herc told me to come to their room tonight and laf was being all smirky and aaaaaaaaaaah _

**Me:** _ get it boi !!!! _

**johnny:** _ you gonna be ok on your own tonight?? if you arent ill stay _

**Me:** _ nah ill be fine go have some wild sex _

**johnny:** _ night _

**johnny:** _ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ _

 

Except, Alex is very much not fine with sleeping alone, because at times like this, sleeping alone means not sleeping at all. Hercules, Lafayette, and John are all occupied for the night and he can’t very well go to any of the girls’ rooms, so the only other option is… Jefferson.

 

Shit.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas is lying idly in bed, scrolling through his Instagram feed when Hamilton awkwardly clears his throat. He looks up to see Hamilton looking unsure and vulnerable. The look doesn’t suit him.

 

“Um.” He begins, then swallows. “So remember that thing that happened a few days ago, so I still can’t sleep very well, or sleep at all really, unless I’m with someone? And the past few nights I’ve been staying with John because otherwise I’ll just get lost in my head all night and I won’t sleep at all and in the end that’ll just cause another breakdown and I still feel pretty shitty about that and I don’t have anyone else to turn to because John is. Um. Otherwise occupied, along with Laf and Hercules, so I understand completely if you say no but can I sleep with you tonight?”

 

It takes Thomas a few seconds to process it. Alexander Hamilton wants to sleep in a bed… with him. He’s not sure whether to be ecstatic or terrified: on the one hand, he could sleep in peace knowing he had one night wrapped around Hamilton, but on the other hand, it could just make it even harder, knowing they’ll likely never be so close again.

 

“Okay.” His voice betrays him and shakes a little. Damn it.

 

He moves over so he’s uncomfortably pressed against the wall to make room for Hamilton, who gratefully crawls in. It’s not as cramped as he thought it would be.

 

Immediately, Hamilton curls up into a ball and nestles against his chest, face pressed into Thomas’s collarbone. He gives a contented little sigh. He looks... a little more carefree like this, a little more happy. After a moment of careful deliberation, Thomas, for lack of anything better to do, cocoons Hamilton with his body and runs his fingers through his hair, which is very soft and Thomas never, ever wants to move. He resists the urge to kiss Hamilton’s head, because that would be too much. (Would it?)

 

Hamilton’s breath is pleasantly warm against his chest. Finally, he closes his eyes and sleeps.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Jefferson is really, really warm, and Alex wants to stay here forever. Jefferson has enveloped him with his body and it’s possibly the nicest thing he’s ever experienced. His face is cushioned against Jefferson’s (admittedly toned) chest, and even the idea of getting up the next morning is something he doesn’t want to think about. He’s suddenly drowsy, too tired to think about  _ why _ he’s thinking all these strange thoughts, but it doesn’t quite matter. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alexander wakes up cradled against Thomas Jefferson, which throws him for a loop. It takes him a few moments to recall exactly how he got in this situation, and a few moments more to realize that he’s enjoying more than he should be, and then he’s struck with the sudden realization that he is deeply, fatally attracted to Thomas Jefferson.

 

Fuck.

 

This is… all wrong. He hates Thomas Jefferson. Well, he hasn’t hated him for a while, but they’re not… well, they  _ are _ friends. Still, it just feels… wrong. (Does it? Not really.)

 

Jefferson is still asleep, Alex can feel his chest rhythmically rising and falling. His lips are slightly parted and his face looks much younger while he’s asleep. His hair is in absolute  _ mayhem _ and it’s beautiful, he wants to run his fingers through it as they kiss and-

 

No, he shouldn’t be having these thoughts, it’s  _ Thomas Jefferson _ , but he’s so beautiful and how has Alex never noticed this before? It’s why he wanted to touch his hair during Rent, why he hung on to him so stubbornly when he broke down. It all  makes so much sense now.

 

Except, Jefferson almost definitely doesn’t feel the same way.

 

Fuck.

 

He relishes being so close to him while he can, until Jefferson wakes up and kicks him out. He closes his eyes once again and deepens his breath, hoping to fall asleep again. His only classes today are in the afternoon, he has time. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

When he awakens once again, Jefferson’s hand is laced firmly in his hair and he seems to be looking over Alex’s shoulder, probably at his phone. He’s wearing his glasses, which he almost never does, and it’s unfairly attractive. 

 

Jefferson sees he’s awake and says casually, “Morning, Hamilton.”

 

“Morning.” He responds, marvelling at how nonchalant he manages to sound.

 

“Are you going to get up?” 

 

“I’m too tired.”

 

“Okay.”

 

And they stay like that, wrapped up in each other, for an indeterminate amount of time that feels like forever.

 

After what might have been hours, Jefferson says, “Alright, I’m getting up, get up.” Alex does, shivering at the loss of heat. He wanders back to his own bed, where the sheets are cold and stiff and notably lacking a certain Thomas Jefferson. 

 

He finally checks the time, discovering his class is in an hour and a half. He considers going back to sleep for a few minutes, but decides against it. He’s slept enough, it’s nearly one in the afternoon.

 

He showers and gets ready quickly, and he isn’t surprised when Jefferson is gone when he returns. 

 

Suddenly, his phone  _ ding _ s. 

 

**To: Me, the mighty hercules, johnny,** **eliiiiiiza, angie, pegs, miss maria, jefferasshole, jmads**

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ drinks tonight everyone at yorktown????  _

**angie:** _ Sure!! _

**johnny:** _ ok what time we meeting?? _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ 9 oclock yes?? _

**eliiiiiiza:** _ i’ll be there! _

**miss maria:** _ me too _

**jmads:** _ thomas and i will be there _

**pegs:** _ See you there!!! _

**the mighty hercules:** _ That’s everyone but Alex? _

**Me:** _ ill go yeah _

 

Alex’s mind immediately runs through a thousand reasons for Jefferson not replying, most of them amounting to irrational jealousy. After he’s convinced his insatiable mind that it doesn’t matter, he moves onto the fact that Jefferson is going to see him drunk. It’s going to be a  _ disaster _ .

 

<><><><><><>   
  


It’s an absolute disaster. An  _ absolute disaster _ . Maybe it’s Alex’s anxiety, but he feels shitty. Usually, being drunk is a happy, contented and slightly embarrassing experience that all around pays off (except for the hangover, of course). Today, there’s a dark cloud hanging over him, shadowing his every move. 

 

Yorktown is an old divebar with a tiny, dirty but always packed dancefloor and a rarely used karaoke stage. The place’s hygiene isn’t always the best and the owner, called Samuel Seabury, is an asshat, but their alcohol is good and it always feels cozy without being crowded, no matter how many people are inside.

 

He’s sitting at the bar with Lafayette and John, who are getting increasingly handsy as the night progresses, and Alex sees Hercules eyeing them hungrily. He shrugs it off. He knew when he arrived that they’d leave together sooner or later. He spots Eliza and Maria on the dancefloor and feels a pang of longing; he’s feeling terribly lonely tonight. He thinks he sees Jefferson grinding on some stranger, and he shouldn’t be surprised at the intensity of the jolt of jealousy he feels, but he is. Feelings are stupid. 

 

John, who doesn’t drink, asks, “Are you okay, Alex?” 

 

He nods in response, though he’s not exactly his face is cooperating with him. He feels a frown on his face, but he’s feeling hazy and it’s hard to tell.

 

John is about to say something else when Jefferson shows up, his[ casual (compared to the rest of his colourful wardrobe) jacket](https://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/s640x640/sh0.08/e35/13117752_1715282372076569_1901869050_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=MTI0NzQ1MDM4ODM0MjcyNDYwMQ%3D%3D.2.l) lost somewhere. He’s wearing a uniquely patterned t-shirt now, and Alex can see the line of his muscles beneath the thin fabric.

 

John and Lafayette share a knowing look and Lafayette drags John out to dance, joining Hercules. Alex is alone with Jefferson now, and he says eloquently, “What.”

 

Jefferson frowns. “Shut up. Let’s dance.”

 

It takes a few long seconds for Jefferson’s response to get through his alcohol-fogged brain, and he scrunches his eyebrows. “I… There are. Many reasons why we should not do that, and they are I can’t remember them. But we should not, because. Why.” He glances at his wrist where Jefferson has grabbed him, and it takes him a minute to realize Jefferson is dragging him to the middle of the dancefloor and pulling him close, grinding hard against him. Alex goes from mildly confused to happy to painfully turned on. He glances around warily, nervous to see if anyone he knows is watching. He’s relieved to find he’s surrounded by only a throng of strangers. 

 

He thinks Jefferson might have kissed him, but he’s not sure. He thinks he kisses Jefferson back, but the, there’s a  _ lot _ of alcohol in his system, and the only thing he’s sure about is he’s halfway to coming in his pants and he really, really wants to reach up and anchor his fingers in Jefferson’s hair, locking them together. He starts to, but his hands stop somewhere near the taller man’s shoulders and slide down his back, half groping him. There’s a part of him that thinks it’s a good idea to take Jefferson by the arm and drag him to the shitty bathrooms so they can have their way with each other, but a bigger part of him starts to sound the blaring sirens of anxiety, dampening his mood. The drinks in his system make him keep going, keep grinding, keep biting and sucking at Jefferson’s skin.

 

The sirens only become louder, though, blocking out any other thoughts. He stops, suddenly, lets go of Jefferson and runs to the bathroom, where he locks himself in the stall and clutches his ears, wanting, wishing for the sirens to stop it, to shut up, to let him be, he was having  _ fun _ even if it was in all the wrong way but he has to ruin everything he loves because he poisons everything he touches and there’s tears spilling uncontrollably down his face. He’s not sure how long he’s in there, but soon he hears John calling his name. He opens the door and John helps him walk back to the car, drives them back to campus and helps Alex into his bed and curling up with him. Alex falls asleep nearly immediately, but not before wondering if it’s Jefferson he can taste on his lips.

 

<><><><><><>

 

**Me:** _ mmmmmjaaames i fcuked erything up  _

**Me:** _ james james james james i mesesd up pls where ar you _

 

Thomas took a taxi back to his apartment in the city after Hamilton ran away from him, and now he’s running the evening over and over in his mind, wondering what happened. His memory is patchy, though, and he’s not even sure he’ll remember texting James the next morning. 

 

He’d danced with some random stranger earlier, but it was Hamilton on his mind. He’d lost count of his drinks when he pulled Hamilton onto the dancefloor, and Hamilton was way past him. 

 

He closes his eyes before more unwelcome thoughts intrude on his mind. He’ll deal with it when he’s more sober.

 

<><><><><><>

 

There’s a body wrapped around him when Alex wakes up, and for a split second, he thinks it’s Jefferson, but no, this person is too small, and besides, after what happened the night before, Jefferson would never-

 

“Shit.” He groans. He remembers hazily dancing with Jefferson before running off to the bathroom. 

 

“Awake yet, sunshine?” John asks, sitting up and scrolling through his phone.

 

Immediately, it feels like a weight has been dropped onto his chest. When his anxiety worsens, talking to people makes everything worse, and it’s not mixing well with his hangover. He doesn’t reply, closing his eyes once again. If he pretends to be asleep, the world will ignore him for a while longer. 

 

He’d been doing startlingly well since his breakdown, but he should’ve known it wouldn’t last long. It occurs to him that he’d only been feeling good because he was friends with Jefferson, though it’s over now, if Jefferson even remembers. It hurts to even think about it, so he tries and fails to shut his brain off. He gives an unhappy sigh and he hear the quiet  _ click _ of John turning his phone off. He plasters himself to Alex’s side and Alex is happy to bury his face in John’s abundance of curls and pretend he’s not comparing them to Jefferson’s corkscrews. 

 

When he wakes up again, he’s alone. There’s a cold coffee waiting him for him on his nightstand, but he leaves it. He considers taking his anxiety meds, but decides against it. He hates anxiety, but almost as much he hates the fuzzy, unaware feeling the meds give him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry
> 
> thanks for reading, your comments are my lifeblood!! tell me what you thought for today's chapter!!


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am impatient, so i'm updating every two days now. enjoy!!!!

It’s three days before Jefferson returns to their room, and he seems relatively normal. Frighteningly normal, if anything. His clothing is unusually bland and he’s less flamboyant. It’s making Alex a little uncomfortable, if he’s honest.

 

Alex is certain Jefferson doesn’t remember what happened at Yorktown. Apart from the startlingly drab getup, he almost acts exactly the same as he did before, as if nothing’s changed. Ugh.

 

At this point, Jefferson is gone off with Madison, so he calls Eliza.

 

“Alexander Hamilton, this better be important, Maria and I were-”

 

“‘Liza I have a crush on Thomas Jefferson what do I do do you know what happened at Yorktown I don’t know what to do please help me.” He blurts out in one breath.

 

Eliza  _ laughs _ . “We’ve been waiting for you to figure it out. Wait, what happened at Yorktown?”

 

He recounts the night at the bar as well as he can, including some details that aren’t entirely pertinent to the story but Alex enjoys thinking about anyway, such as Jefferson’s glorious arm muscles and beautiful ass. Eliza doesn’t seem to think these things are as important as Alex does, but he doesn’t care.

 

“Alex, that’s awful.” She says bluntly. “How drunk were you?”

 

He blinks. “Really fucking drunk.”

 

She sighs. “I have a perfectly good reason to avoid poking around in your messed up love life.” She says.

 

“You do,” he agrees honestly.

 

“But I won’t use it because I’m still your friend, and frankly, Alex, sometimes you can be thicker than a brick wall.” She continues. “Ugh.”

 

“Ugh.” Alex concurs.

 

“And Alex?” Eliza says quietly. “I’m sorry. None of us knew that happened at the bar. We realized it was probably too soon after John found you in the bathroom, but we didn’t know that’s why you were in the bathroom in the first place.” 

 

Alex exhales deeply, closing his eyes and falling back onto his bed. He hits the mattress with a satisfying  _ thump _ and finally replies, “Well, I better go. I’m behind on me and Jefferson’s project.”

 

She sighs tiredly. “Goodbye, Alex.”

 

“Bye, Eliza.” He hangs up and throws his phone onto the ground, huffing in frustration. It feels good to have Eliza know about what happened, but it doesn’t help. The only thing that might help is Alex forgetting the whole incident ever happened, which is impossible, but he can dream. He was becoming  _ friends _ with Jefferson, and it was good, it was nice, but then he caught  _ feelings _ and everything has been ruined. He sighs aloud. Fleetingly, he wishes he never became roommates with Thomas Jefferson, but changes his mind. Jefferson made him feel better in the days following his breakdown, and already he misses the idle but meaningful conversations they have while lazing around in their respective beds.

 

He wants to talk to John about it. John would listen, would understand… but, only three days ago, John dragged him home when he was drunk and sobbing, already stayed the night with him, he’s probably tired of Alexander. He can’t talk to John.

 

Hercules is another good option. He’s quiet and thoughtful, but can also be intense. Hercules would calmly think of a logical solution, but Alex doesn’t  _ need _ a solution now, doesn’t want one, he just needs someone who understands.

 

Eliza’s most likely told the story to the whole group by now, and he’s surprised he hasn’t gotten any concerned and/or passive aggressively caring messages. He puts his phone on silent, hoping they’ll ignore him for just a bit longer. The heavy silence of the room is comforting and terrifying at the same time; there’s a nebulous, lethargic atmosphere in the room, highlighted by the hazy afternoon light. He imagines that if someone were to speak, the very air around him might shatter. 

 

Contrarily, the silence also leaves him trapped in his head. There’s no background noise or music for him to concentrate on when the circling thoughts in his mind corner him, leaving him breathless and antsy. 

 

After prolonging the solitary quietude of the room for a few moments longer, he checks the time. He has two classes this afternoon, with Lee and Franklin. Benjamin Franklin is a genius and Charles Lee is a bigoted douchebag who loves failing his students almost as much as he hates his job. (Lee and Alex do not hide their unadulterated, mutual hatred for each other, but Alexander gets perfects in his class anyway. He always gets perfect.) 

 

Class is boring and Alex finds it difficult to pay attention, for obvious reasons. He almost misses one of Lee’s taunts and he  _ fumbles _ when Franklin calls on him in class. He’s almost glad he doesn’t share either of the classes with his friends, they’d immediately notice his odd behaviour. 

 

When he finally gets back, he curls up on his bed and takes out his laptop. The mechanical whirring it makes as it turns on is comforting and familiar, as is the  _ tap tap tap  _ of his keyboard as he types. He settles into his routine, throwing himself into his work. It’s an essay on civic activism for Franklin’s class, and he’s happy to distract himself. He completely forgets he silenced his phone, completely forgets about everything for a while. 

 

Considering all this, he shouldn’t be surprised when there’s a loud, obnoxious banging on the door of his room. “Alexander!” Lafayette shouts angrily. “Let me in,  _ vous crétin _ !” Alex contemplates letting his friend shout some more in the hallway, but decides against it. Lafayette won’t leave, and besides, he’ll disturb the neighbours. Alexander laboriously shuts his laptop and plods to the door, making sure to drag his feet for dramatic effect, knowing Laf will be listening. 

 

“Hi, Laf.” He greets casually as he opens the door, stepping out of the way as Lafayette barrels inside.

 

“Alexander, it is ten o’clock. You have not answered your phone for hours, especially after what Eliza told us?” He gesticulates wildly as he continues, “Why did you not tell us about what happened? Mon ami, we were all so worried.” He narrows his eyes. “You were doing so well before this. Is Jefferson causing it?”

 

_ This _ is why he hadn’t particularly wanted to talk to Lafayette. He mother hens like there’s no tomorrow, and he means well, Alex knows it, but he can be so autocratically solicitous about Alex’s health. “I had class, and I was working on my paper for Franklin.” He replies, throwing himself onto his bed dramatically. “I got carried away is all.”

 

“It would be easier to believe you had you not had a  _ major anxiety attack less than two weeks ago _ .” Lafayette sits on the edge of the bed, frowning. “You cannot do this, Alex. You cannot push yourself into your work to distract yourself.”

 

“What am I supposed to do, then?” He’s  _ trying _ to be patient, but it’s difficult. “I work to cope, you know that.”

 

“You work to cope, and then you keep working and working and you  _ don’t stop _ .” Laf’s voice is soft now, his eyes sympathetic.

 

Now Alex  _ wants _ to talk. Damn it. He wants to confess that the reason he’d been feeling so great is Jefferson, and he feels like it’s his own damn fault the shaky friendship between them has been ruined. “I don’t think he remembers.” Alex finally says. “And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

 

Lafayette sighs. “It does not matter how you are  _ supposed  _ to feel. How other people would feel in this situation does not change or invalidate how you do.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas lies in James’s room, bemoaning his existence. It’s the first day he’s returned to his room since Yorktown, and he’s just about ready to jump out of the nearest window. James is working on his laptop, occasionally glancing over to Thomas to check on him.

 

He’s limp on James’s bed, leaving almost no room for James himself. There’s an exhaustion set deep in his bones he hasn’t felt for a long time, and he knows exactly what it means. Every few minutes, he wonders if he should tell James he’s feeling so awful, but always changes his mind at the last second. James is working, he doesn’t need to know yet.

 

His mind wanders back to, as it has been for days, the night at Yorktown. He  _ knew _ Hamilton was going to be there, so why did he drink so much? He has trouble truly letting go around almost anyone, except for James. He shouldn’t have done it then, and he’s suffering from the consequences. Hamilton is acting weird around him now, and it’s hard to keep the completely passive facade up. Hamilton’s back to hating him, all because he made one mistake. Moreover, there’s the matter of Laurens. Are he and Hamilton dating? They certainly  _ act _ like it, which means Jefferson’s caused Hamilton to cheat  _ again _ , which makes him feel a hundred times worse.

 

Sometimes, Thomas hates Hamilton. If they’d never met, Thomas’s life would be simpler. Maybe he wouldn’t spend hours every day agonizing over his every movement for fear of his roommate's reaction, maybe his roommate would be James. Maybe he’d have an easier time in Washington’s class, maybe he wouldn’t be so terrified of tripping over his words if there was no one like Hamilton waiting to pounce on his mistakes. 

 

Still, he can’t change anything now, and he can’t imagine his life without Alexander Hamilton.

 

He soon drifts into a light slumber, lulled by the rhythmic clicking of James’s keyboard. When he wakes up once again, it’s just past ten o’clock. James is curled up in his corner of the bed, absorbed in a book Thomas doesn’t recognize. It occurs to him that James and Hamilton are polar opposites: Hamilton is constantly writing, ceaselessly forming ideas and throwing himself into his projects. James, on the other hand, is calmer. He reads and retains information. His wealth of knowledge is rivalled by few, and Thomas loves him for it.

 

Still, James wasn’t always as patient as he is. He’s a few years older than Thomas and attended a different university before this one. He was always ahead of himself and attempted to complete an accelerated course of study, but got sick. James isn’t sure if it all would’ve happened anyway, or it really was because he was too hard on himself, but he rarely talks about it. From what Thomas understands, James suffered from seizures that rendered him immobile. He took a year off from school to try to recuperate.

 

What James was like before he switched schools reminds Thomas of Hamilton: rarely sleeping and overworking himself, to put it lightly. James worked himself to physical sickness, and Thomas can’t help but wonder if the same is in store for Hamilton.

 

“Are you going to stay here tonight?” James asks. 

 

Thomas shakes his head. “I have to face him some time.” His voice is rough and he winces glancing up at James.

 

“You’ll be fine.” James assures him, smiling. “Don’t overthink it.”

 

They both know this is impossible; Thomas overthinks  _ everything _ , but he appreciates the sentiment. “Good night, Jemmy.” 

 

“Good night, Thomas. Tell me how it goes.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas is curled around himself in his bed, wishing Hamilton would go to sleep. The clacking of his keyboard is intensely irritating and it’s getting on his nerves more than usual for some reason that he doesn’t care to get to the root of. He just wants to sleep. 

 

Finally, the clicking of the computer ceases and there’s a quiet snapping sound as he shuts his laptop. Faintly, his bedsprings creak, as if he threw his weight onto the mattress. Then… footsteps? Pacing, Thomas realizes. He’s pacing, which is worse than they keyboard. 

 

The footsteps draw nearer to him, then stop. Thomas opens his eyes to see Hamilton standing anxiously by his bed, staring at the wall as if lost in thought. Hamilton sees Thomas looking at him and freezes. He begins to step back, but Thomas moves over and stares back at Hamilton expectantly, not exactly sure what he’s doing. It’s difficult to see in the darkness, but he thinks he sees Hamilton smile.

 

He climbs into the bed and almost automatically, Thomas curls around him, relishing the warmth and contact. He can’t help but be reminded of the night at Yorktown; he shivers. Hamilton doesn’t react. 

 

Why is Hamilton doing this? There’s a rift between them. Yorktown changed everything, and now they’re sleeping together. Thomas is going to hate himself for letting this happening in the morning, because there are really only two options: Hamilton keeps acting out, or he confronts Thomas, because he’s just that type of person. Alexander Hamilton can’t let anything go to save a life, and he doubts this is an exception.

 

Or perhaps he doesn’t know Hamilton as well as he previously thought, and Hamilton will have an entirely different reaction that Thomas has no way to anticipate, which terrifies him more than anything.

 

In any other circumstances, Thomas would keep himself up all night picking apart his day, analyzing every interaction until his head spun. Now, though, he finds himself drowsy. Hamilton’s chest is moving up and down against his own and it’s inexplicably calming. The last time they did this was the night before they went to Yorktown, and it fills him with a happy sort of peace. 

 

He stays up for a while, wanting this to last for as long as possible. When he wakes up, this tranquility will be shattered and everything will be back to the way it was before, when they were both fully awake and aware of the situation they’re trapped in. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex leaves before Jefferson wakes up. It’s better that way. Jefferson will probably dislike him even more for crawling into his bed when he wasn’t really awake enough to realize what he was doing.

 

It dawns on him that he never actually mentioned his sleeping with Jefferson to his friends. They think he’s sleeping more now, because he doesn’t stay with John as much. In truth, he just doesn’t want to burden John with his anxiety. His friends  _ say _ they want to hear about his problems, they  _  say _ they care, but they must get tired of him. If he told them every time he felt like shit, they’d never have time for anything else.

 

His phone chimes, breaking his train of thought.

 

**mom:** _ Hi Honey!! How are you? I’m still sick up hopefully it will pass soon! I know you’ve been busy but call me soon _

**Me:** _ feel better soon mom!! ill call you after class today love you _

 

<><><><><><>

 

Hamilton is gone when Thomas wakes up, and he sighs quietly as disappointment washes over him. Is this going to become normal? No matter how much he enjoys it, he doesn’t want Hamilton to stay with him all night and ignore him in their waking hours, it’s not fair, but if he comes back, Thomas knows he won’t be able to say no. (“Damn,” James would say, “you’re so whipped and you’re not even dating yet.”)

 

He’s having a hard time finding the strength to get out of bed, and this has made it so, so much worse.  _ Maybe just stay here for today _ , his mind says.  _ Just take a break. You don’t want to go to Washington’s class anyway _ . 

 

_ No _ . If he doesn’t get out of bed, he can’t take his meds, he won’t be able to see James, and he’ll become locked in his head. He  _ has  _ to get up. He texts James, hoping to be rid of the darkness he knows will follow him all day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment, kudos, etc., it makes my day!!!


	8. eight

Night after night, Alex sleeps enveloped in Jefferson’s arms. It’s achingly wonderful, and he hates the longing he feels every morning as he carefully extracts himself from the taller man’s arms. During the day, Jefferson acts increasingly indifferent toward him, but welcomes Alex to his bed when the sun sets. It’s odd, but Alex doesn’t want to break the uneasy semblance of peace they have.

 

October is winding down now, and the cold weather is affecting Alex’s mother. Her sickness is slowly worsening, and it eats away at Alex. Sometimes he thinks about his mother back in the Caribbean, his birth mother, and how they both fell sick, how Alex survived but his mother didn’t.

 

His father has taken her to the hospital, but no one can find anything seriously wrong with her, so all there is to do is wait. 

 

He distracts himself from his mother’s decreasing condition by making headway on his and Jefferson’s project. It’s rather difficult, what with their unspoken arrangement of next to no communication. He  _ tries _ to compromise with Jefferson’s ridiculous views on the subject, but it’s difficult, to say the least. 

 

For the first time in weeks, Alexander doesn’t sleep. Jefferson’s already asleep by the time he returns to their room, so he settles down with his laptop and opens the document. He has a few pages of notes and one or two rough paragraphs finished, but there’s still work to do before he can really get started with it. He starts to type.

 

“What the fuck.” Jefferson says, and why is he up? It’s only- oh. “Have you been up all night?”

 

“I was working on our project.” Alex retorts. He hadn’t noticed the time, okay? He doesn’t even feel very tired.

 

“Yeah, our project will turn out  _ great _ with you  half-dead from exhaustion.” Jefferson snaps. “Go to sleep, Hamilton.” He grabs some clothes and leaves the room without looking back.

 

Alex sits, frozen, for minutes after Jefferson leaves. He hasn’t been that brash with Alex for a long time, what prompted it today? Did Alex do something wrong? He can feel the dark shadow of anxiety slinking toward him. He considers texting John, but his friends are probably tired of hearing him grousing about Jefferson.

 

<><><><><><>

 

He puts on the mask automatically. “What the fuck,” Thomas snaps. “Have you been up all night?” He’s frustrated with himself; he barely slept without Hamilton to keep him company, and it’s affecting him more deeply than he cares to admit to himself, so he throws up his arrogant, carefree facade. It’s all he can do; it’s that or don’t talk at all.

 

“I was working on our project.” Hamilton replies, narrowing his eyes. Is he gearing up for a fight? God, Thomas hopes not.

 

“Yeah, our project will turn out  _ great _ with you half-dead from exhaustion.” He retorts bitingly. Hamilton freezes as if he’s been stung, and Thomas leaves before he can react. 

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he curses after he closes the door. He’s ruined everything, Hamilton’s going to be angry again, but he can’t  _ help _ it. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

There’s a quiet buzzing in the base of Alex’s skull, but he’s sure it’s nothing. His hands feel heavy and he can’t type as fast as he’d like, which is intensely annoying. He’s not sure what time it is, but he’s written five hundred words and now he needs to analyze it, fix his abundance of mistakes. A yawn interrupts his working, but he barely notices. 

 

His hair is falling out of its bun, but he doesn’t have the patience to fix it. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s gotten so much finished the past few nights. 

 

Maybe he’ll tell Jefferson to help him, or at least do some part of it. The thought makes him nervous. The day before, he’d snapped at him and tonight he’s not even in the room, which makes Alex think he’s being given the cold shoulder. 

 

He tries to put away thoughts of Jefferson, but it’s impossible. Why can’t he just work on his project in peace, why does his mind have to concentrate on everything, everyone that doesn’t matter? Thomas Jefferson is finally gone from the room, he should be  _ happy _ to be alone. He can write in privacy now.

 

Still, no matter what he tries to convince himself, everything feels a little emptier while he’s alone. Maybe he’d be less tired if he had someone to stay the night with, maybe he’d feel less anxious if the one person he wants to like him wasn’t ignoring him, maybe he’d feel less hollow if he had something… he’s not exactly sure  _ what  _ he wants, but he knows who he wants. If Jefferson could give any hint of returning his Alex’s feelings, if he could give a hint of anything but detestation, it might give Alex peace of mind.

 

He recalls that, just three nights ago, his chin was tucked over Jefferson’s shoulder as they slept. If he moved in the slightest, he could kiss Jefferson’s neck and his jawline, move onto his lips and touch his face, feel his stubble brush against Alex’s cheek… the recollection brings him a bittersweet feeling he never thought he’d associate with Thomas Jefferson. 

 

His phone dings, distracting him from his roiling thoughts.

 

 **dad:** _Martha’s in the hospital. I know you’re awake but don’t do anything stupid. I’ll call you when I know what’s going on._

**Me:** _ what happened??????? oh my god is she okya what do i do _

 

Alexander only notices the typo after he sends it, and for some reason, it nearly sends him to tears. Why can’t he type properly? Why won’t his hands stop shaking?  _ No, stop it, don’t cry, shut up. _

 

**dad:** _ Stay calm, son. I woke up because she was kicking and when she wouldn’t wake up I carried her to the car and started driving. She woke up on the way there but she has an awful fever and she said she’s exhausted. _

**Me:** _ is she staying in the hospital overnight???  _

**dad:** _ Yes. I’m staying with her for the night but I think she’ll be able to leave by the morning. I’ll be back for class tomorrow. _

 

There’s water on his screen, how did that get there? It’s making it even harder to type. Now he has to-

 

Oh. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize the liquid coating his phone display is tears, which only makes him cry harder. He’s glad, now, that Jefferson isn’t in the room. He feels like such an  _ idiot _ , his mother’s going to be just fine, he’s overreacting. He dries his phone and wipes the wetness from his cheeks before replying to his father.

 

**Me:** _ you can just cancel class and stay with mom _

**dad:** _ Don’t use this to get out of class, Alex. _

**Me:** _ im just worried about her ok _

**dad:** _ I know, son. _

**Me:** _ tell me how she is when you find out _

 

Alexander throws his phone across the room before he realizes what he’s doing. He stares at the now cracked screen glinting in the gloom, unable to move. The shadows hiding in the corners and crevices around the room seem to envelop him, dyeing his vision black as pitch. He wonders if perhaps he’s closed his eyes without noticing it, but decides it doesn’t matter. He can’t  _ think _ anymore, every thought is polluted with dread and trepidation. He considers texting Lafayette, but his phone is all the way across the room now, and he doesn’t want to wake his friend up. 

 

He turns back to his laptop, but his stomach churns as he sees the page. The very thought of trying to work on this project makes him dizzy, so he turns off the computer and falls back onto his pillow, sniffling. Is his mother going to be okay? He can’t even begin to comprehend what it would feel like to lose her- he’s already lost one mother, he doesn’t need to lose another. 

 

The anxious buzz is back, louder now. He doesn’t want to be alone, he needs  _ someone _ here with him to ground him. He can feel himself getting lost in his head and if he doesn’t fight it now, if he doesn’t get rid of the darkness threatening to drown him he’ll be stuck there all night, in a bleak spiral of nerves and panic. He sits up, breathing heavily. He can’t let it overcome him, not again. He needs to be okay.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex hasn’t slept in a few days, but it’s fine, he has other things to do, such as work on his project and worry about his mother. He’s tired, but it’s completely fine. He’s fine.

 

He wonders sometimes, usually in the gray hours of the morning, if Jefferson cares that Alex hasn’t been sleeping with him. It seems like he doesn’t even notice, which hurts more than Alex cares to admit. Maybe they hadn’t been communicating before, but at least it was more than this icy silence.

 

They rarely argue in class anymore, and Alex’s dad has been deeply suspicious about it, but Alex brushes the questions off. He has enough on his plate with Martha so sick. Alex’s friends are also wary of his behaviour, but none of them ever seem to be able to come up with enough evidence to confront him about it, something for which he is thankful.

 

He hasn’t told anyone about his mother’s sickness. They’d fuss over him even more, which is something he’d rather not deal with. 

 

_ What if they’re annoyed with him? _ An intrusive voice in his head says. It’s been a little over a month since the last time this happened, and he’d promised to talk to them if he felt like that again. What if they get fed up with him? What if they stop talking to him and he’s alone again? 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Jefferson’s started an argument in class, and it’s getting difficult to keep track of what he’s saying. Written on the whiteboard in Washington’s loopy handwriting is the deadline for the dreaded project: two and a half weeks from now, midway through November. 

 

Suddenly, Alex becomes aware of Jefferson’s smooth voice once again. “Hey, and if you don’t know, now you know.” He smirks and turns to Alex, who stifles a sigh.

 

“Thomas, that was a real nice declaration,” he says with grandeur, putting on a show, “welcome to the present, we’re running a real country.” He can feel the eyes of the class bearing onto him and it’s making his chest feel tight and constricted. Breathing is a little harder, but he can deal. “Would you like to join us, or keep doing whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello.” Abruptly, he feels a lump in his throat. He tries to talk, but nothing comes out, which is all wrong. He shuts his mouth, battling off the sensation of suffocation threatening to overcome him, and bolts from the room. He can hear John calling after him, but he ignores it. He’s not sure where he’s going and he doesn’t care, as long as it’s away from Jefferson and his classmates. There’s no telling what they’ll think of him or how much they’ll laugh, and he doesn’t want to find out.

 

He finds the library and throws open the glass doors, disturbing a girl crouched over her laptop. He apologizes and begins to pace through the winding bookshelves, breathing quickly. He left his laptop in the classroom, so he can’t write, can’t work on the project that’s due in two weeks time that he’s barely close to finishing, which has never happened before. He’s always weeks ahead in his schoolwork. He’d finished his essay for Franklin’s class before the rough draft was due, why can’t he do the same now?

 

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps and spins around, calming down when he sees Maria.

 

“Are you alright?” She asks gently, taking his hands in hers. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

 

He considers, for a moment, telling her  _ no, everything’s okay _ , but he’s just so  _ tired _ . “Can we… talk?” He whispers, so quiet it’s almost inaudible. She nods and leads him back to her room and he curls up on her bed, breathing heavily. She runs her fingers through his hair, murmuring nonsense into his ear to calm him.

 

“Jefferson was trying to debate with me in class again,” he finally begins, “which he hasn’t been doing much lately, I don’t know why, but I couldn’t pay attention, because there’s this project with him that’s due in two weeks and I’m not even done yet, Maria, I should have been done it ages ago. Anyway, I had to talk and I tried, I really did, but I froze up and ran out of the classroom.” He explains, the words tumbling out without his permission. It feels good to tell someone, finally.

 

“Is that all?” Maria asks. “Is there a reason all this is happening?” 

 

Alex nods and talks about his mother’s sickness and the anxiety that’s been tailing him for weeks. It’s nice, talking to Maria. She also has problems with anxiety, mostly from her relationship with James Reynolds.

 

It feels like there’s been a weight lifted off of his shoulders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't got much to say today, except that by the next update, i will own the hamiltome. i am so excited oh my GOD
> 
> anyway. comments make me, so, so happy!! tell me everything you thought about today's chapter!!


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hamilton: the revolution, aka the hamiltome, is a g l o r i o u s book and everyone should read it

The look on Hamilton’s face as he freezes up is not dissimilar to that of a cornered animal, and it frightens Thomas more than he’d like to admit. Thomas is paralyzed with shock; what had he done? Since Thomas has been so distant lately, he thought Hamilton would  _ want _ to debate, to help things back to normal, but maybe there are things going on in Hamilton’s life that Thomas failed to notice.

 

It makes him feel intensely guilty to think that Hamilton’s been having problems while Thomas has been selfishly focusing on his own. 

 

It takes him a moment to realize that Hamilton has dashed from the room, leaving a thoroughly puzzled class in his wake. Hushed murmurs break out until Washington silences the room, though even the teacher himself occasionally sends concerned glances at the door.

 

Thomas’s attention drifts away from Washington as the class winds down. Why did Hamilton react so badly? What was so different about today’s class? He can’t concentrate on anything else, and he doesn’t notice Washington calling on him until James prods him, which is mortifying, to say the least.

 

When class is finally over, he follows James back to his room. Anxiety is snapping mercilessly at his heels, preventing any semblance of calm. James glances back worriedly at him.

 

Suddenly, Thomas hears a shout from down the hall: “Jefferson!”

 

He looks back  to see John Laurens hurrying toward him with Lafayette at his side.  _ Great _ . “Go.” He says to James, who obeys, albeit hesitantly.

 

“Hello.” He drawls, tilting his head. His smug, arrogant facade comes to him instinctively. 

 

Laurens narrows his eyes. “Do you know anything about what happened in class?”

 

Thomas shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. I’ll be on my way now, though I appreciate your  _ generous  _ interruption of my day.” 

 

Lafayette steps in front of him as he tries to leave. “Has he been acting strangely? Has he said anything to you?”

  
“No, he hasn’t. Am I dismissed?” He raises an eyebrow, challenging them.

 

Laurens sighs before he and Lafayette stalk away. Thomas holds his breath til they’re out of sight. He tries, and fails, to stop himself from running back to James’s room. The interaction has him feeling inexplicably  _ wrong _ , though he can’t pinpoint why.

 

<><><><><><>

 

John can’t believe Alex  _ likes _ Jefferson, he’s still the smug, arrogant asshole he’s always been. Before what happened at Yorktown, Alex and Jefferson had been well on their way to becoming  _ friends _ . 

 

“Maria just texted me.” Lafayette says worriedly. “Alex is in her room with her. She says, and I am quoting her here, ‘we all good, alex feels better now’.”

 

“Good, that’s good.” John replies, though he feels a stab of guilt. Why hadn’t he followed Alex when he ran? He’s glad, of course, that Maria found him, but he could have done  _ more _ . 

 

Lafayette grabs his arm. “It is not your fault, mon chéri. Don’t stress about it.” He kisses John on the cheek and takes his hand as they keep walking. (John does not melt at the touch, thank you very much.)

 

In Maria’s room, Alex’s head is cushioned on Maria’s lap and she’s typing away on her phone with one hand and playing with Alex’s hair with the other. Alex looks asleep, which is a relief. John knows, no matter how much Alex denies it, that he hasn’t been sleeping much, if at all lately. 

 

“He’s sleeping.” She whispers softly, glancing down at Alex for a moment. “He can explain later.” She turns back to her phone, humming quietly. 

 

John makes himself comfortable on Peggy’s bed, and Lafayette soon attaches himself to John’s side. Eliza and Hercules arrive shortly. Hercules drapes himself over John’s other side and Eliza sits beside Maria, who puts her phone down and begins whispering in her girlfriend’s ear. There’s a hazy, peaceful atmosphere permeating the room and John feels calmer than he has in ages.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Gray evening light filters through the small, rectangular window on the far wall, shining directly in Alex’s eyes. He sighs a little, closing his eyes once more. Maria removes her hand from his hair, and he shivers at the loss of contact. Finally he sits up, looking around the room in confusion. 

 

On Maria’s other side is Eliza. They’re leaning on each other and whispering affectionately. Across the room, on Peggy’s bed, John is wedged between Laf and Hercules. John is languidly kissing Herc, and Lafayette is sucking on John’s neck. It’s not exactly something Alex really wants to see, but being surrounded by so many people who are so in love makes him long for Jefferson. He can imagine it, when he closes his eyes; he’s curled up in Jefferson’s lap, Jefferson’s playing with his hair, and-

 

No, no this is all wrong. He can’t fantasize about Thomas Jefferson, because Thomas Jefferson doesn’t like him. Why else would he ignore Alex constantly, why would he stop debating in class (Until today, of course)? Why else would he be acting so distant?

 

“Alex?” John asks. Alex’s eyes are immediately drawn to the dark pink marks on his neck. Laf smirks, winking. 

 

“I’m tired.” Alex says.

 

Maria casts a sidelong glance at him, urging him to tell his friends what’s wrong. He knows she means well, they all do, but he doesn’t know if he can say it all again. It was exhausting the first time, and it’ll be a hundred times worse the second. 

 

“My mom’s sick.” Is all he says, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. 

 

“Martha?” Lafayette murmurs worriedly. 

 

“She’ll be okay, Alex.” Eliza assures him, smiling. 

 

“Is there anything else?” John asks, sharing a concerned look with Hercules. 

 

Alex doesn’t reply. Maria can tell them, can’t she? His stomach lurches at the mere thought of speaking. He shakes his head minutely, hoping they’ll get the message.

 

“Alex Hamilton, speechless, huh?” Maria whispers, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Shh, it’s alright.” He nestles into her, closing his eyes. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine he’s safe and warm and away from all his problems; away from college and exams, away from Jefferson, away from his mom’s sickness. He smiles a little.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“C’mon,” Herc says, grabbing Alex’s arm. “You’re staying with us tonight.”

 

Alex frowns. “I’m not sure a night with the three of you is something I want to be a part of.”

 

Herc laughs, loud and genuine. “There goes our plan to steal you away from Jefferson.”

 

“Me and Jefferson aren’t even-”

 

“I know, I know.” 

 

When they arrive in Hercules and Lafayette’s room, John and Herc immediately move to push the two beds together. “Séance de câlins d'urgence!” Laf shouts gleefully, jumping onto the beds. 

 

John frowns. “Séance? With like… ghosts and shit?”

 

“ _ Non _ , you dumbass. Séance. Session.” Lafayette retorts, pulling John on top of him. Alex makes himself comfortable beside them, sighing contentedly at the contact. Hercules curls up on Alex’s other side, enveloping Alex in warmth. He falls asleep to the sound of Lafayette softly but angrily hissing at John about blanket hogging.

 

<><><><><><>

 

There’s a thunderous storm brewing in Alex’s head, a torrent of words fighting to find their way out. He’s desperate to write, more than he has been in  _ weeks _ , and it’s as exhausting as it is invigorating. 

 

He tries to open his door quietly, though he’s not entirely sure if he succeeds. He wonders, briefly, if John, Laf, and Herc have noticed his absence, or if they’re even awake. He supposes it doesn’t matter; it’s not likely they’ll come after him at this hour anyway. He finds his laptop and opens his notes on the project. It’s all so clear now what he has to do, how hadn’t he noticed it before? 

 

Alex has completely forgotten about trying to keep quiet. He’s humming under his breath and his old keyboard’s rattling is jarring, but he barely notices. Every few minutes, the words blur together on the page, but it doesn’t mean anything, he’s… he’s completely fine. He reads over his last few paragraphs, and is utterly unsurprised but disappointed all the same when he realizes they’re complete  _ shit _ . He begins to edit, highlighting the parts that need fixing and taking out sentences that need total rewriting.

 

He’s still hunched over his laptop when he hears an irritated voice from across the room: “Hamilton, what the fuck are you doing up?”

 

It takes a moment for Jefferson’s words to register. “Writing.” He answers tersely, twiddling his fingers as he stares at the display of his laptop.

 

“Go back to sleep, it can wait.” Jefferson snaps. “You’re keeping me up with your clicking.”

 

“Oh, gee whiz, Jeff, I’m sorry my coping methods are inconveniencing you.” It comes out involuntarily, and he flinches. What if-

 

“Hamilton, where were you all night? Why did you come back here?” A pause. “Are you okay?”

 

Alex wants to spit a scathing remark in response, but he  _ can’t _ . It’s the middle of the night and he’s so, so tired. His laptop screen is too bright and Jefferson’s voice is so nice and it’s so cold and and and and and

 

“Hamilton- Alexander, it’s okay, I’m here, just… calm down.” Jefferson’s voice sounds panicked and anxious, and Alex feels guilty. He  _ tries  _ to quell the anxiety running rampant through his limbs, but it’s getting increasingly difficult. Suddenly, he feels a warm pair of arms encircling him, and though it only helps somewhat, the little relief it does give him is instant. 

 

He  _ shouldn’t _ be crying, he was fine just a minute ago. He talked to his friends about his troubles, why didn’t it fix him? Now here he is, at the mercy of  _ Thomas Jefferson _ . It occurs to him that he’d rather have Jefferson with him now more than anyone else. He doesn’t  _ want _ Lafayette, John, or Hercules with him now. It sends a jolt of guilt down his spine and he shivers. 

 

“I- I’m just trying to finish this damn project.” He mutters, words punctuated by sniffles. “It’s due in two weeks and everything I write turns out shitty. I don’t understand why I can’t do it, Jefferson, it shouldn’t be this difficult, but I  _ can’t _ , damn it.” 

 

Jefferson runs his hands over Alex’s back. “It’s okay, Alexander. I’ll help you, we’ll finish the project together. I’m sorry I didn’t work on it with you before, we’ll finish it in time.” He sounds calmer now. “Shh, you’ll be okay, darlin’. Just breathe. Can you tell me if there’s anything else wrong?”

 

Alex is momentarily distracted by Jefferson’s calling him  _ darlin’ _ . It probably doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s something he’ll say to anyone. Except, he’s never called  _ Alex _ ‘darlin’’ before. 

 

“Um.” He finally says. “There’s- well, there’s a lot wrong.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas learns that Martha Washington is sick, that George Washington is actually Hamilton’s  _ adopted father _ , and that his biological mother died in the Caribbean of sickness when he was thirteen. It’s a pretty sad story, to say the least. Hamilton is still crying when he finishes talking, so after a moment’s hesitation, Thomas carries him back to his own bed and deposits him beneath the covers before climbing in after him. It’s familiar and safe to be curled up with Hamilton, nestled in blankets and darkness. 

 

Thomas is almost asleep when Hamilton whispers, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

 

“What?” 

 

“I just spilled my guts, and yet I still know next to nothing about you.”

 

Hamilton’s statement sends a burst of panic through Thomas. “Go to sleep, Hamilton.”

 

“No.” He retorts. “You’re deflecting. You’ve helped me through to major panic attacks and I know jack shit about you.”

 

“What do you want to know? I can’t think of anything anyone, let alone you, would want to hear.” 

 

“You’re defensive.” Hamilton sounds like he’s gearing up for an argument, which, frankly, is funny, considering the fact that his face is nestled in the crook of Thomas’s neck. “Tell me why you’re being so evasive.”

 

“I don’t owe you anything.” His fingers tighten in Hamilton’s hair. Hamilton doesn’t respond, silently goading him on. Finally, he hisses, “I’m a fucking mess, Hamilton. You don’t want to know.”

 

“More of a mess than me?”

 

“I went to sleep tonight hoping I wouldn’t wake up. You’re not the only one with shitty mental health, remember?” 

 

Hamilton is silent for a beat too long, and Thomas has to suppress the urge to leap out of bed and run far, far away. 

 

“Are you okay now?” Hamilton finally asks, voice unusually solemn.

 

Thomas laughs. “I don’t know, Hamilton. I don’t know.”

 

Hamilton doesn’t reply, and it takes Thomas a few minutes to realize he’s fallen asleep. His deep, even breathing is calming. It’s not long before Thomas follows suit, drifting off into a dreamless slumber.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“That fucker.” Lafayette mutters, climbing out of bed. The spot where Alex lay just hours ago is cold now. “I am going to find him.” He announces to Hercules and John’s sleeping, unaware forms.

 

He checks the library, but it’s completely empty. He’s not surprised, of course, who (apart from Alex) would be in the library at ten a.m. on a Tuesday?

 

He makes his way to Alex’s room, getting increasingly worried. His friend had seemed alright the night before, what made him run away?

  
He puts his ear against the door and hears indiscernible conversation and keyboard clicking. Why on earth is he  _ working _ ? He tries the door and finds it unlocked. He’s prepared to leap across the room and drag Alex away from his laptop, if that’s what it takes, but he’s pleasantly surprised by what he sees. Alex is nestled between Jefferson’s legs and Jefferson’s head is tucked on on Alex’s shoulder. They’re both staring at Alex’s laptop screen. Lafayette winks and shuts the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this chapter, comments give me life!! i know i don't respond to every single one, but it seriously makes my day when you guys leave a comment!!
> 
> edit: im a moron I've completely forgotten abt French translations??? I know like basic French and I always forget that a lot of people don't oops
> 
> Séance de câlins d'urgence: emergency cuddle session (this phrase right here has been google translated bc though I've been learning French for ten years in school I still only have a very loose grasp on the language. I'm sorry if it's incorrect)


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is twice as long as most of the others at 4.3k!!!! 
> 
> also, there's a bit of a timeskip here and i'm sorry for that
> 
> if you have any triggers go to the endnotes for warnings

The past month and a half has been a bit of a blur, if Alex is honest. Between Jefferson, his mom, the project, and the shitstorm that was exams, he hasn’t had much time to worry about anything else. He’d been buried in studying for weeks, staying up for days at a time. Somehow, though, he’d made it through without breaking down, which was an amazing feat he’s not sure he’ll ever replicate.

 

Christmas break is in less than a week, but Alex barely notices. He’s not particularly excited for two reasons: one, his mother isn’t likely to be any better by the twenty fifth, and two, all of his friends are going to be out of the country.

 

They’re going to mail each other presents, mainly because Lafayette insisted upon it so he could buy everything from France. Alex doesn’t quite understand why, but he goes along with it. 

 

He gets a text at three a.m. from John: 

 

**johnny:** _ were leaving for our flight come say goodbye alexander!!!! _

**Me:** _ ok ok im on my way _

 

He hadn’t realized they were leaving so soon. The thought makes him sad; he won’t be able to see Lafayette, John, and Hercules until the end of the break. He pockets his phone and opens the door quietly so as to let Jefferson sleep. 

 

The building is completely silent until he nears Lafayette’s room. He can hear the distant hum of voices before he sees the door, and he’s not surprised when a cacophony of conversation floods his ears as soon as he opens the door.

 

“Alex!” Lafayette cries immediately before embracing him in a crushing hug. “Goodbye, petit lion.”

 

“Let me in here.” John grumbles, burrowing beneath Lafayette’s arm. Alex hugs them both, choosing not to comment on the fact that he can’t breath. 

 

“I’ll miss you guys.” He manages to say, successfully eliminating the remaining oxygen in his lungs.

 

Finally, they let him go. He breathes a sigh of relief, clutching his chest. “Sorry.” Lafayette says, not sorry at all.

 

Hercules crosses the room from where he was talking to Peggy and embraces Alex, careful to give him room to breath. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine.” He replies. “Don’t waste your time worrying about me your whole trip.”

 

Hercules raises an eyebrow. “It’s impossible not to worry about you, Alex.” Alex is afraid for a split second before Herc adds, “Don’t worry. We’ll have fun.”

 

“Take lots of pictures!” Eliza says excitedly. “We want to know all about it.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex is lonely. It’s been four days since Lafayette, Hercules, and John left and two since the Schuylers and Maria caught their flight. They text him every day, but it’s not the same.

 

He receives a selfie of Lafayette and John just as Jefferson opens the door to their room, carrying an obscene amount of shopping bags. 

 

“Christmas shopping.” Jefferson says once he sees Alex’s quizzical expression.

 

He gets another text from Lafayette. “Laf keeps bragging about France.” Alex whines, throwing his phone on the ground. 

 

“And rightly so.” Jefferson replies, dumping his bags unceremoniously onto the ground.

 

Alex pouts. “How dare you side with him.” 

 

“France is a thousand times better than America. C’est parfait.” Jefferson retorts. “Even the language is better.”

 

“That I can agree with.” Alex says. His phone chimes. He scoffs and picks up his phone, expecting another message from Lafayette, but it’s from his dad.

 

**dad:** _ Im driving Martha to the hospital. Come now. _

 

Suddenly, it’s impossible to breathe. His phone clatters loudly to the ground.

 

“Hamilton? Hamilton, what’s wrong?” Jefferson sits beside him, eyes alight with concern.

 

“Can you drive me to the hospital?” He asks. “My- it’s my mom.”

 

“Of course.” Jefferson agrees immediately. “Come on.”

 

The car ride is tense but mercifully short; when they arrive, Alex thanks Jefferson and runs inside. His dad is in the waiting room, hunched over in one of the chairs. Alex sits beside him. “What happened? Is she okay? What-”

 

“She was reading and then she just… collapsed.” His dad says. “I don’t… I don’t know what happened. She’d been taking all of her medication, I made sure she was resting as much as possible. We did everything we possibly could.” His voice breaks. “I don’t understand how this happened, Alex. I have a bad feeling about it. She was so pale, son.” 

 

Alex can’t find the words to respond. His dad puts his arm around him, and he’s not sure how long it is until a nurse says, “Mr. Washington?” Alex leaps up. His father stands up more slowly, as if exhausted. “She’s not doing well.” The nurse explains apologetically. “It doesn’t look good.”

 

“It doesn’t look good?” Alex whispers, unable to process the words. It doesn’t make any sense. His mom… she has to be okay. He can’t lose her, he  _ can’t _ .

 

“She might not make it til tomorrow.” Alex barely hears her when she says, “You can see her now, but she’s not awake.” He’s barely aware of the walk to the room, and it’s impossible to suppress the tears. 

 

His father was right. She’s so  _ pale _ .

 

They sit in the dingy plastic chairs listening to the jarring beat of beeping machines. Alex’s eyes are glued to the heart monitor, anticipating the monotonous flatline that means his mother is dead. 

 

He doesn’t attempt to wipe away the tears; he knows more will come. His phone has gone off a few times, but he doesn’t bother to check. He can’t bear to tear his eyes away from his mother, from the incessantly beeping machines. He sees his mother’s gaunt face and he’s taken back to Nevis. He’d been so cold, and his mom wouldn’t wake up and he couldn’t stop crying and his mom was  _ so, so pale _ .

 

Martha is completely and utterly motionless, except for the uneven rising and falling of her chest. It feels like nothing in the world exists but this cold room and the infinite space between Alexander and his mother. Her graying hair glimmers in the glaring yellow light; it contrasts her sallow, colourless face. Alex realizes his hands are shaking and clenches them into fists. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood. Hastily, he wipes away the red liquid dripping down his chin. 

 

“Son, why don’t you go get some food.” His father says pitifully. “You don’t have to stay.”

 

“I can’t leave her.” He replies numbly. “I- I just can’t.”

 

The hours pass in mournful silence, each unable to process it. Alex can’t imagine what it’s like for his father, who’s been married to her for more than fifteen years. Alex has only known her for four of those years, and yet he can’t fathom even the mere idea of her death. 

 

The monitor flatlines. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

There had been a flurry of nurses and doctors ushering Alex and his father from the room, playing with the machines and attempting to revive her. He  _ wanted _ to have faith in the professionals,  _ wanted _ to have hope for his mother’s survival, but he feels nothing but grief. 

 

When he closes his eyes, he sees his biological mother lying unconscious in the bed. He remembers being thirteen and having no idea what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to move on when his mother had just died. He remembers her funeral, he remembers the memory of her stalking him like a shadow. 

 

He can’t go through it all again.

 

He stands, paralyzed, in the hallway, wondering if his father, will say anything. He doesn’t.

 

<><><><><><>

 

The days before the funeral are a blur; Alex is functioning on autopilot, lost in a dark haze. He buys a suit and he receives condolences from his friends, but his mind is trapped in the doleful hospital room. 

 

It hits him, on the night before the funeral, that he has no one to fix his hair for him. It hurts him more than it should; usually, for formal events, he has someone do his hair. It’s often one of the Schuylers, but they’re out of the country, and his mother…

 

Impulsively, he texts Jefferson. 

 

**Me:** _ wat do u know about hair _

**jefferasshole:** _ I know some. Why? _

**Me:** _ the funeral is tmrw and i need someone t do my hair _

**Me:** _ wait ur not in monticello yet are u  _

**jefferasshole:** _ Not yet. Of course I’ll help when do you want me to come? _

**Me:** _ early tmrw morning??? _

 

Alex pauses and adds, before Jefferson can reply:

 

**Me:** _ actually can u come tonight _

**Me:** _ i just _

**jefferasshole:** _ 7 o’clock?? _

**Me:** _ yea ok _

**jefferasshole:** _ See you soon, Hamilton. _

 

Alex takes a deep breath. It occurs to him that he should have informed his father before inviting Jefferson over, but he doesn’t think it’ll be a problem.

 

Alex knocks on the door of his office. 

 

“Alexander?” His father replies. “Come in.”

 

He stands awkwardly in the doorway, wringing his hands anxiously. “I invited Jefferson over, because I needed someone to do my hair. I told him he could stay the night tonight, if that’s not okay I can tell him-”

 

“It’s alright, son.” He smiles sadly. “It’ll be good for you to talk to one of your friends.”

 

Automatically, Alex wants to defend himself, cry out,  _ He’s not my friend! _ But that would be a lie, He’s friends with Thomas Jefferson now. The thought nearly makes him smile. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

The doorbell makes Alex jump. He realizes it’s seven o’clock already and hurries to the door, only remembering too late to try and make himself presentable. He opens the door to find Jefferson wearing[ astonishingly casual clothing](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q6bhmqm7Ltc/VaQCczzcJlI/AAAAAAAAAUs/4XWCQN94Otg/s1600/dAVEED%2Bcover.jpg). He stares for a moment before catching himself and letting the taller man inside. Jefferson grins for a split second before composing himself.

 

“This,” Alex says, leading Jefferson through the house, “is where you’ll be sleeping.” Jefferson hesitantly drops his bag in the guest room, glancing at Alex with an expression he can’t quite put his finger on. 

 

Hesitantly, Alex leads Jefferson to his room. Jefferson makes himself comfortable on Alex’s bed immediately. Alex scoffs before sitting beside him.

 

“Are you okay, Hamilton?” Jefferson asks. His chestnut brown eyes are wide with concern, and Alex really, really wants to kiss him. 

 

“Not really, no, but thanks for asking.” As an afterthought, he adds, “And thanks for coming. It means a lot.”

 

“It’s nothing.” Jefferson assures him. “If you ever want to talk…”

 

Alex snorts. “Too much.”

 

Jefferson laughs. “Yeah, I thought so.”

 

They fall into a companionable silence, only broken when Alex asks, “Where did you learn how to style hair?”

 

<><><><><><>

 

The bags under Hamilton’s eyes are dark and prominent, but Thomas doesn’t point them out. It would be rude of him, and besides, if he pointed it out every time Hamilton had under eye circles, there would be no time for anything else.

 

He’s shown to a guest room, but Thomas is sure that he’ll be staying with Hamilton tonight. Why else would he be invited over for the night? 

 

As they sit in silence in Hamilton’s room, it hits Thomas all over again how hard this must be for him. He lost his biological mother already, not even ten years ago, and now he has to lose another one? 

 

Out of the blue, Hamilton asks, “Where did you learn how to style hair?”

 

“I learned in high school.” He replies.

 

“Don’t tell me you took a  _ class _ for it, Jefferson.” Hamilton’s almost smiling, and the sight makes Thomas happier than he’s been in a while.

 

“No, my best friend taught me.” He explains. “Martha Wayles. She was a genius. She made me do her hair, since she had no siblings.”

 

“Do you still talk to her?” 

 

“No, we lost contact after high school. It was… mostly my fault.” The last part slips out unintentionally and he winces, because he  _ can’t _ tell Hamilton about that, he can’t. He can feel the anxiety building in the pit of his stomach, ramping up even more when Hamilton curiously asks, “What happened?”

 

Thomas cocks his head. “That’s a story for another time.” 

 

Hamilton looks at him oddly and opens his mouth as if to say more, but changes his mind. He falls back onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a grim set to his jaw, a haunted look in his eyes, and perhaps that’s what makes Thomas lie down beside him. Hamilton curls into his side, closing his eyes. Thomas wraps an arm around him, eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, the dark purple colouring beneath his eyes, the lines of his lips. He feels intensely guilty for even  _ looking _ at Hamilton in this way when he’s gone through such a tragedy, but he can’t help it. He relishes the closeness with Hamilton while he can, even though he knows it will never be real, not in the way Thomas wants. 

 

Hamilton nestles into his side, making himself comfortable. It’s adorable, though Thomas would most likely be killed by Hamilton for saying it aloud. 

 

The bitter twist in Hamilton’s mouth softens into something akin to a smile when Thomas begins to card his fingers through the smaller man’s dark, silky hair. 

 

When Hamilton finally moves, Thomas is surprised to find that it’s eight o’clock. He hadn’t realized they’d lain together for an hour. It felt like no time at all. 

 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, sitting up. “Thirsty?”

 

Thomas fights back the urge to make a joke, because that would be  _ absurdly _ inappropriate, and replies, “I’m fine, thanks.”

 

“So, tell me more about Martha Wayles.” Hamilton demands, raising an eyebrow.

 

Thomas sighs. “She was my best friend. Very smart. She wanted to become a scientist, I think. The rest of my friends couldn’t believe I was best friends with a  _ girl _ , though.” He laughs.

 

Hamilton makes a sour face. “I bet you were one of those assholes who beat up nerds and was quarterback on the football team.”

 

Thomas scoffs. “Beating up nerds was out of the question, seeing as I was valedictorian. I  _ was _ on the football team, though. Runningback.”

 

“I have no idea what that means.” Hamilton replies, shrugging. “Go sports.”

 

Thomas scoffs. “I never liked football, anyway.”

 

Hamilton pounces on him immediately. “So why’d you keep playing?” 

 

Shit. He wants to reply with a scathing remark, but the kid’s mother just died. “Story for another time, Hamilton.”

 

“Ugh.” Hamilton spits. “C’mon, let’s watch a movie.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

By the end of  _ 50 First Dates _ , Alex is nearly asleep. “I can’t  _ believe _ ,” Jefferson mutters, “your guilty pleasure movie is an Adam Sandler romcom. I knew you had bad taste, but this is a new kind of stupid.” Alex ignores him, yawning. It’s only nine forty five and he hadn’t really anticipated sleep tonight, but he’s already exhausted. 

 

“Pajamas.” He says, standing up and rifling through his drawers. He finds a clean pair of sweatpants and decides against a shirt. Jefferson leaves the room, presumably to change.

 

Alex changes in the bathroom and washes his face, staring at the dark purple smears under his eyes. His mother was always nagging him to sleep more. The thought shouldn’t make him so emotional,  _ everyone _ harries him to sleep more, but for some reason, he can’t choke back a sob. He braces his hands on the edges of the ceramic sink, screwing his eyes shut.  

 

There’s a knock on the door. “Hamilton, are you okay?”

 

Alex inhales a shaky breath and opens the door. Jefferson takes one look at him and opens his arms, offering Alex a hug in a rare (or not so rare, considering their bizarre relationship) gesture of affection. Alex immediately embraces him. Jefferson is warm and comfortable and safe, and Alex wants so  _ badly  _ to never let go-

 

“C’mon, darlin’, let’s get you to bed.” Jefferson finally says, and there it is again.  _ Darlin’ _ . He supposes it’s something Jefferson says unintentionally. Why else would he call Alex such an affectionate pet name, and on multiple occasions? It’s the only explanation. 

 

Jefferson’s nearly carrying him by the time they get to Alex’s room. Jefferson deposits him on the bed and he burrows under the covers, wondering if Jefferson is going to stay with him. When he looks up, the other man is gone. The stab of disappointment is immediate and harsh. Does Jefferson not want to sleep with him anymore? What had he done wrong?

 

After what feels like hours of deliberation, he gives up and makes his way to the guest room, careful to be quiet so as to not wake anyone up. He’s certain his father isn’t sleeping, but he doesn’t want to disturb him all the same. As for Jefferson… well, he’s going to wake Jefferson up anyway, so what does it matter?

 

The door to the guest room is wide open, seemingly in an invitation, which leads Alex to believe that his arrival has been anticipated. He finds the bed in the pitch darkness and crawls in, welcoming the comforting presence of another person. Jefferson immediately curls around him, enveloping him in warmth. Alex sighs contentedly, closing his eyes. Here, with Jefferson, he can almost forget that tomorrow morning is his mother’s funeral.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas isn’t sure what time it is when he wakes up, but Hamilton’s still asleep, so he assumes it’s very, very early. He intends to go straight back to sleep, but he hears a noise echoing faintly across the otherwise silent house. There’s footsteps for a short few seconds, then a door creaking. “Alex?” Someone all but whispers. Washington. “Alexander?” A note of panic animates his voice. After a long moment, the footsteps continue, coming closer. The door of the guest room opens slowly. Thomas closes his eyes and evens his breathing, hoping Washington doesn’t notice he’s awake. Before the footsteps recede, Washington murmurs almost inaudibly, “Alexander.” Thomas can’t decide if the professor sounds relieved or worried; either way, it makes Thomas nervous.

 

Suddenly, Hamilton jerks awake. He tenses up, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, and opens his eyes, relaxing immediately once he sees Thomas with him (well, Thomas assumes it’s that. He hasn’t put his glasses on yet). “What time is it?” He asks, voice slurred with drowsiness. 

 

Thomas reaches around Hamilton to find his phone and glasses. “Six twenty three.” He answers after poking himself in the eye with the arm of his glasses.

 

“I always forget you have glasses.” Hamilton remarks thoughtfully.

 

“Very few people know I wear glasses,” Thomas replies evenly, “and I aim to keep it that way.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your deep dark secret.” Hamilton teases, and Thomas grins. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Jefferson is blow drying Alex’s hair, and conversation is rather difficult difficult over the loud hissing of the hair dryer. Alex thinks Jefferson might be touching his hair slightly more than necessary, but quickly brushes away the thought. That would imply Jefferson likes touching his hair, which consequently means he has  _ feelings _ for Alex, which, unfortunately, is impossible. 

 

Finally, the dryer is turned off. “Did you have anything in mind?” Jefferson asks.

 

Shit. “No. All I know is you’re not supposed to wear your hair down at funerals.” He answers. “At least, I-”

 

“Yeah, you don’t need to keep talking.” His cheerful tone contrasts his irritated words, and it confuses the hell out of Alex. “Unlike you, I know what I’m doing.” Alex is grateful for the familiar ribbing. It’s a small comfort in a world of hurt. 

 

The feeling of having his hair styled is nice, like a massage. It’s been too long since anyone did this for him. He wonders if it would be out of line to ask Jefferson to do this again, but quashes the thought. 

 

“It’s called a [chignon bun](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/0d/0b/b6/0d0bb659b9701e79eb7c9396b22ca9ae.jpg).”Jefferson explains, shattering the peaceful silence. “Martha taught me how to do it in tenth grade. She had a date and couldn’t figure it out, so she had me practice for hours.” He continues to prattle on with stories about Martha, and for reasons unfathomable, it’s comforting.

 

Finally, Jefferson announces, “It’s finished.” He takes a picture of the newly minted knot and shows Alex, who smiles. Seeing his hair done up reminds him of the stern, almost militant bun his mother wore daily. His grin falters at the unwelcome memory, but Jefferson doesn’t notice.  _ Why does it matter if Jefferson sees? _ A persistent voice in the back of his mind demands. Alex chooses to ignore it, but it leaves him unsettled all the same.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I had a fifty page speech written, at first,” Alex begins quietly, “and I managed to shorten it down to thirty, before scrapping the whole thing. Because I know, no matter how much I write, I’ll never even begin to capture the beautiful woman that is- was- Martha Washington.” He pauses, clutching the edges of the podium until his knuckles whiten. “It used to annoy me, when I was younger, when people would gloss over all of the bad things a person did in their lives at funerals. I thought it was dishonest and, for lack of a better word, idiotic. Now, though, I know better. It’s not about telling the truth, it’s not about telling a story at all. It’s about honouring someone’s- it’s about honouring  _ her _ memory. I’ll never forget-” his voice breaks and he puts a hand to his mouth, attempting to calm his stuttering breaths. “I’ll never forget her. Never. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Hell, without her, I might be on the streets, or dead.” He takes a deep breath and casts his eyes to the ceiling, trying to calm down enough to be able to talk. “She’s the best woman I know- knew. Um. I could keep going, but I’d keep you here all day.” He looks out into the pews before locking eyes with his father. “She- my mom… she deserved the world, and the world didn’t deserve her.”

 

He hastens back to his pew, taking his place beside his father, who nods, a movement so small it’s nearly imperceptible. The motion warms his heart, briefly distracting him from the bleak atmosphere.

 

The rest of the service passes torturously slow. Alex doesn’t know many of the people here, but he talks to them nevertheless. It amazes him how many people Martha Washington reached out to. 

 

It’s never been said aloud, at least not to him, but he’s sure it was ultimately Martha’s decision to adopt him, and for that he’ll be forever grateful. He begins to tear up again just thinking about it.

 

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder. “Son,” his father says, “I’m proud of you.”

 

“Thanks, dad.” Alex replies quietly, turning to face him.

 

“I mean it.” He says, nodding. “I know this has been hard on you. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have to lose two mothers, especially when you’re so young.” He pauses, meeting Alex’s eyes. “I need to know that you’ll be able to move on. I’m not asking you to let go of her, but we both know Martha wouldn’t want this to hold you back. She loved you so much, Alex. I can’t even begin to tell you…” He trails off, voice thick with emotion. “I need to know you’ll be okay, son.”

 

Alex nods. “I’ll be fine, dad. I promise.”  _ Or at least, I’ll try to be _ .

 

<><><><><><>

 

When he gets home, he turns on his phone to find he has a text from Jefferson.

 

**jefferasshole:** _ Are you alright? Tell me how it goes. _

 

Alex should probably change Jefferson’s contact name.

 

**Me:** _ it went as good as a funeral can i guess _

**Me:** _ got a lotta complements on the hair so kudos _

**jefferasshole:** _ I’m not surprised, Hamilton. I’m a genius, you know. _

 

Alex snickers.

 

**Me:** _ u know i think were on first name basis at this point _

 

He clicks send before he can back out of it; what if Jefferson rejects him? Before he has time to freak out, though, Jefferson replies.

 

**jefferasshole:** _ You’re right. _

**jefferasshole:** _ *You’re right, Alexander. _

**Me:** _ youre callin me alexander??? only my dad does that when hes mad at me  _

**Me:** _ and laf but like … laf  _

**jefferasshole:** _ Now that you don’t want me I have to. _

**Me:** _ shit man youre an asshole i changed my mind im not changing ur contact name _

**jefferasshole:** _ You just used ‘you’re’ and ‘ur’ in the same sentence. _

**jefferasshole:** _ What’s my contact name? _

**Me:** _ FIRST OF ALL THOMAS i used youre without the apostrophe i take great pride in my lack of almost all punctuation while texting thank u very much _

**Me:** _ secondly your contact name is jefferasshole _

**jefferasshole:** _ Yours was ‘Bastard’ but I changed it to ‘Alexander’ because I’m a GOOD PERSON. _

**Me:** _ breakin out capslock are we there buddy???? do u need some water??? _

**jefferasshole:** _ I’m changing your contact name back to Bastard.  _

**jefferasshole:** _ Goodbye Alexander James and I are driving to Monticello.  _

**Me:** _ byeeeee tommy _

 

Hesitantly, Alex adds:

 

**Me:** _ txt me when u get there _

**jefferasshole:** _ I will. James says hi. _

**Me:** _ hi james!!!!!!!!  _

**jefferasshole:** _ I thought you didn’t use punctuation while texting? _

**Me:** _ why r u still texting me dont text and drive young man _

**jefferasshole:** _ Bye, Alexander. _

 

Even though they’re not speaking face-to-face, Alex feels a twinge of dismay at Jefferson’s- no, Thomas’s departure. He wants Thomas here with him, but it’s not possible. Would Thomas even  _ want _ to spend Christmas with him?

 

Instead of falling into a spiral of self-doubt, he forces himself to change out of his suit. He gets on a pair of sweatpants and a soft, worn in t-shirt. He doesn’t touch his hair, though. His father makes a face at it but doesn’t comment. For the rest of the day, he keeps it as a reminder of Thomas, smiling faintly whenever he catches a glimpse of the updo in the mirror.

 

Later in the day, he receives another text.

 

**jefferasshole:** _ James is driving now and I’m bored. _

 

Alex grins.

 

**Me:** _ miss me already???? _

 

Alex’s day has been sad beyond words, but maybe, just maybe nothing’s as bad as he thought it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for minor character death in a hospital setting if that bothers anyone. if that bothers you but you still want to read it, i'd suggest stopping at "“Of course.” Jefferson agrees immediately. “Come on.”" and picking up at "The days before the funeral are a blur;"
> 
> i'm sorry!!! if you don't hate me for this chapter i would love to hear what you thought about it!! (i've never been to a funeral before so)


	11. eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of you have been checking this fic regularly, you may have noticed that i change the total amount of chapters frequently. yesterday, for some reason google docs took eleven out of my outline, but instead of looking through the actual doc, i looked through my plan, which led me to believe, because of some last minute changes, that i had merged ten and eleven and just went straight to twelve, and that was why ten was so long. so i was under the impression i had one less chapter than i originally thought, but i found chapter eleven finally!! hooray!! i am dumb. (this is not pertinent to anything really but like. i dont understand how i even manage to get up in the morning when things like this happen???)
> 
> anyway. enjoy the chapter!! tell me what you think of it!! i love you all so much!!

By the twenty third, packages from Alex’s friends begin to arrive. He keeps them in his room, holding out until the twenty-fifth to open them.

 

The house is eerily silent most days. Alex’s father stayed locked in his office and Alex himself stays in his room, alternating between talking to his friends and working. It’s all he can do to distract himself from his mother.

 

It’s nearing midnight and Alex is bored out of his mind, unable to write for the first time in days. On a whim, he texts Thomas.

 

**Me:** _ u up _

**jefferasshole:** _ Did… did you just send that text? Am I seeing things? _

 

It takes Alex a moment to realize exactly what he’s done. His face burns with shame as he replies:

 

**Me:** _ shuddup im tired and i actually wanted to know if youre awake which i guess you are _

**jefferasshole:** _ What did you want to tell me? _

**Me:** _ idk man im just bored out of my m i n d _

**jefferasshole:** _ Call me if you’re that bored. _

 

Instead of replying, Alex immediately dials Thomas, who answers instantly. 

 

“Excited, are we, Alexander?” Comes his smug greeting. Alex scoffs. 

 

“Don’t call me that. I don’t want to think of my dad every time you talk to me.” He retorts.

 

“What would you rather me call you?” Thomas inquires in response, and Alex  _ knows _ he’s made a mistake. “Alex? No, that’s so  _ boring _ . Xander doesn’t quite fit you, either. Al, Alec, maybe?  _ Oh _ , Lex! Lexy, Lexy Hamilton-”

 

Alex snorts. “If you call me Lexy, I’ll keep calling you Tommy.”

 

Thomas pauses thoughtfully. “It might be worth it, Lexy.”

 

“You asshole, don’t you  _ dare  _ start calling me that.” 

 

He can hear Thomas’s laughter faintly, as if he’s holding the phone away from himself. “I don’t know, I like it.” He says finally, and Alex can hear the grin in his triumphant voice.

 

“I will hang up, Tommy. I will  _ hang up _ .” He threatens dramatically.

 

“Oh, how my heart weeps with despair! Whatever shall I do? Lexy Hamilton, hanging up on  _ me _ -”

 

“Shut up, Thomas. I’ll come to Monticello and I will kill you, I  _ swear _ .”

 

“All the way down here for li’l ol’ me? Aw, shucks, Lexy, I’m-”

 

“You’re such an asshole, why do I even like you?” He sighs, before realizing what he’s said.

 

“Oh, you  _ like _ me, huh?”

 

Alex cuts him off before he can go on. “Why else would I be calling you and midnight two days before Christmas and less than a week after my mother’s funeral?”

 

“This got serious fast.” Thomas says after a weighty pause. “I’m sorry, Alexander.” With a teasing lilt to his voice, he adds, “I like you too, you know.”

 

“Shut up, you fucker.” He snaps, exhaling deeply. “What about your parents? You never talk about them.” When Thomas doesn’t answer right away, he adds, “You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay if you-”

 

“I’m fine, Alexander.” He interrupts coolly. “My dad died when I was fourteen. My mother… she’s not really in the picture anymore.” He says vaguely. Alex doesn’t press, slightly afraid of the iciness in Thomas’s voice as he says  _ mother _ .

 

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.” 

 

“You sound like a moody, war-torn mentor-type from a terrible young adult novel.” Alex informs him.

 

“That’s oddly specific.” Thomas responds. “Have you read any terrible young adult novels lately?”

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

“Then how would you know?”

 

“You know what, asshole, I will-”

 

“So you’ve read some.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“You look tired, son.” Alex’s dad comments. “You didn’t stay up all night writing, did you?”

 

“I was talking to Thomas.” He explains, fidgeting with the coffeemaker.

 

“He’s Thomas now, is he?” The older man teases, a smile nearly appearing on his face. Alex is struck with the thought that his father hasn’t smiled since Martha’s death.

 

“It’s nothing.” Alex scoffs. (It’s anything but nothing. This thing he has with Thomas matters to him more than almost anything.)

 

“When should I plan the wedding?” His dad asks. Alex rolls his eyes in exasperation. 

 

“He doesn’t even like me, dad.” 

 

“Are you sure about that?” Before Alex can ask what he possibly means, he keeps talking. “Your mother would have been so happy to see you and Thomas like this.” He says wistfully, getting lost in his head for a moment. 

 

“Dad? Are you okay?” Alex asks, biting his lip. 

 

“I’m fine.” He retorts, and maybe he’s not as fine as he wants Alex to think. 

 

“Are you sure?”

 

There’s a pause, then he whispers, “It’s not the same without her, son. I’ve seen her every day for fifteen years, and now....” He falters, shivering.

 

Alex doesn’t know how to respond to that. His father is rarely so emotional, and he’s not sure anything he says will provide comfort. He misses his mother more than words can describe, and he knows if he were in his father’s situation, nothing anyone could say would console him.

 

Alex sips his coffee in silence, barely aware of the scalding temperature. His thoughts are elsewhere: his mother, Christmas, Thomas. When Thomas was with him, he’d felt better than he thought was possible, what with everything going on in his life. Now, everything seems a shade bleaker.

 

His phone chimes. It’s a text from John on their groupchat.

 

**johnny:** _ we should skype alex u barely talk to us we gotta keep tabs on u _

**the mighty hercules:** _ John I thought we were being subtle about this. _

**johnny:** _ hercules you are o n t o p o f m e why are you txting me _

**the mighty hercules:** _ So everyone else here can see that I don’t approve of your blatant approach to watching over Alex because we KNOW he doesn’t like it. _

**the mighty hercules:** _ Anyway since we’re already past all that, Alex let’s skype so we can keep tabs on you. _

**johnny:** _ hey :((((( _

**Me:** _ hey :((((((((( _

**america’s favorite fighting frenchman:** _ yes, skype!!! _

**eliiiiiiza:** _ Yes let’s skype!! _

 

Before he can protest, John texts:

 

**johnny:** _ alexander we started the call please join in or ill fly all the way from france to shove an entire baguette up ur ass _

**Me:** _ jfc give me a second _

 

Alex takes his coffee mug to his room, feeling a brief pang of remorse at leaving his dad alone, and opens Skype on his laptop. Everyone else has already joined the call, and Alex finds himself wishing Thomas were here, too.

 

“Alexander!” Lafayette says excitedly. It feels strange to hear his full name coming from Laf’s mouth when all he can think about is the way it sounded in Thomas’s southern drawl.

 

“Hi, guys.” He says, smiling. He’s missed his friends. “What’s up in Europe?”

 

“It’s  _ great _ .” Peggy says. “Apparently they think Americans are  _ exotic  _ here.”

 

Angelica snorts. “No, they don’t. That was one woman at one bar trying to hit on you.”

 

John bursts out laughing, and Lafayette begins laughing at John’s reaction. Hercules rolls his eyes fondly, and for the second time in barely a minute, Alex longs for Thomas. He  _ hates _ that he’s so hung up on one man. He should be grieving over his mother, not crushing on some guy. 

 

“Alex?” Eliza says. “Earth to Alex!”

 

It takes a moment for Alex to realize he’s getting lost in his head again. “Sorry.” He amends quickly. “I just got distracted.”

 

“I figured.” Eliza replies with a knowing look. “Alex, are you alright? You know you can talk to us any time.”

 

John nods in agreement. “You don’t look so good. Did you stay up all night again?”

 

“Yeah, but it wasn’t-”

 

“You and your writing.” Lafayette sighs. “Always working, even at Christmas.”

 

“I wasn’t writing.” Alex says, raising an eyebrow. “I was talking to Thomas.”

 

“He’s Thomas now, is he?” Maria smirks.

 

“He came to your house for a night and now  _ this _ ?” Peggy cries. “I can hear the wedding bells!”

 

“I will-” He stops mid sentence, thrown back to the night previous.  _ I will hang up, Tommy, I will  _ hang up. 

 

Hercules narrows his eyes. “Alex, you’re a little spacey, are you sure-”

 

“I’m fine. I’m fine, I swear.” He snaps. “There’s just- you know there’s a lot going on with me right now. I’m fine.”

 

There’s a half moment of silence. Angelica sighs. “Alex, you have to let us help you. Stop saying you’re fine, we all know very well you’re not. Now, what’s wrong?”

 

Alex takes a deep breath. “It’s just, I don’t want to ruin your Christmases, and I can’t even think of any presents to get you, how fucked up is that? I’m so lost in my own damn head I can’t think about other people. And, and my mom’s gone, and Thomas was here and he left only a few days ago but I want him  _ back _ , and I want my mom back, I just, I don’t know what to do.” He looks away from his laptop, staring at the pale walls of his room as his friends take in his rambling words.

 

“If we were together,” Peggy says, “I would be hugging the shit out of you right now.” She smiles at him. He smiles weakly in return.

 

Hercules says, “You have to-”

 

“Talk to someone about this stuff, I  _ know _ .” He hisses, closing his eyes for a long moment. “You don’t have to tell me constantly!”

 

“We will stop telling you when you actually listen, Alexander.” Lafayette retorts. 

 

Alex physically recoils. He  _ knew  _ it, he knew they were going to get fed up with him sooner or later, it was only a matter of time. Now, they’ve finally snapped. His bottom lip quivers and he bites down hard on it before anyone can notice. “I’m sorry,” He whispers shakily, “I didn’t mean to-”

 

Lafayette’s expression, previously frustrated, becomes guilty. “No, no, Alex, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, mon cher, we’re not angry with you.”

 

“We’ll never be angry at you, not for this.” John assures him. He looks mildly panicked, and Alex immediately feels remorseful. He hadn’t meant to worry John.

 

“I know it’s hard to speak up,” Maria says gently, “but it really helps, I promise.”

 

He nods halfheartedly, staring intently at his keyboard. He feels childish, but he can’t help it.  _ Talk to us, Alex, talk to us _ . He  _ knows _ , no matter what they say, they won’t want to listen if he comes to them with his more minor problems, they’ll get irritated with him, but it’s the minor things that inevitably lead up to a major anxiety attack. He doesn’t want to jeopardize his friendships by putting that kind of stress on them. 

 

He imagines Thomas would be a good listener. He supposes it would be easier, too, if he was talking to just one person instead of seven. 

 

He feels a prick of guilt. He’s skyping with his friends, who he hasn’t seen in nearly two weeks, and he’s longing for  _ Thomas _ . They deserve better than that. He resists the painful urge to apologize again, because  _ they don’t even know what I’ve done wrong _ . He berates himself; it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, why is he overthinking it so much?

 

“I’m going to miss Martha.”

 

While Alex was engrossed in his circling thoughts, the conversation took an even darker turn, apparently. Lafayette’s statement jars him. It makes sense; Lafayette is oddly close with his parents. Parent. Alex flinches at his self-correction, unwilling to be overcome by thoughts of his mother.

 

“We all will, I think.” Eliza concurs dulcetly. 

 

Alex finds himself nodding. His mother was so widely loved, he can’t believe she’s  _ gone _ . He begins to tear up again, but before he can furiously hide his glistening eyes, he notices Laf and Eliza sniffling, too. It makes him feel better, somehow. 

 

The skype call soon ends, and Alex feels just a little happier than he did before. He shuts his laptop, not in the mood to write, and wanders around the house. By now, his father is probably locked in his office, so he might as well be home alone.

 

On an abrupt notion, he enters the guest room. It’s just as Thomas left it: meticulously clean. Except, there’s something in the corner- it’s gray with a lighter gray floral pattern on it, and Alex immediately recognizes it as [one of Thomas’s sweaters](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/4G6wV8qAXfI/maxresdefault.jpg). He scoops it up and presses it to his face; it still holds the faint scent of Thomas, like coconut and clean linen at the same time. He slips into the sweater. The downy lining is impossibly warm. Though the sweater is exceedingly oversized on him, already he dreads taking it off.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas is  _ tired _ , more than anything. 

 

Christmas is uneventful. He gets gifts from only James, but that was what he’d been expecting. He gets a few ‘merry Christmas’ texts and surprisingly, a card from Lafayette, who is possibly the only person below forty five who still bothers with Christmas cards.

 

James leaves early Christmas morning to see his family, and Thomas is left alone in his big, empty house. 

 

He misses Alexander. He misses falling asleep with him and waking up with him, even though it’s all purely platonic. It’s better than nothing, Thomas supposes, even though it’s as torturous as it is wonderful.

 

He tries to keep himself from pining over Alexander, but his efforts are fruitless. He  _ knows _ it’ll only worsen his downward spiral, but he can’t help it. His self-destructive tendencies are at their worst when he’s alone.

 

As the New Year nears, Thomas finds himself getting out of his bed less and less. It’s just so much easier to stay in bed, why shouldn’t he? He doesn’t eat much on the days he stays locked in his room, but that’s alright. Eating has made him feel sick lately, anyway. 

 

He’s fine. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

When Alex opens the door to his dorm, Thomas is already there. He’s sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. “Hi.” He greets Alex, standing up.

 

“Hey.” Alex replies, dropping his bags on his bed. He realizes too late that he’s still wearing Thomas’s sweater. Thomas doesn’t seem fazed, though, so he makes no move to take it off. “How was your break?” He asks, even though they were on the phone together nearly every day.

 

“Boring, honestly.” Thomas replies, shrugging. 

 

“Miss me?” Alex teases, but his heart’s not really in it.

 

Thomas sighs. “C’mere, Alexander.” He opens his arms and Alex gladly accepts the offer, embracing Thomas warmly. Like this, he can almost pretend Thomas doesn’t like him the way Alex wants him to, he can pretend everything’s okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, as always!!! your comments give me life!!


	12. twelve

It’s been five days since the end of Christmas break, and Thomas still can’t stop staring at the sweater, or rather  _ his _ sweater. He hadn’t meant to leave it at Alexander’s house and didn’t even notice its absence. He’d been astonished to see it hanging off Alexander’s tiny frame.

 

Stealing the other’s sweaters is something  _ boyfriends _ do, Thomas can’t help but think whenever he catches a glimpse of his friend lounging around in it. The thought makes him feel a painful twinge of longing.

 

“Hey,” Alexander says, looking up from his phone, “my friends are having a movie night Friday, wanna come? You can bring Madison.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” He agrees quickly, nodding. 

 

“Shit.” Alexander mutters after a few moments of peaceful silence. “There’s- uh- there’s not a lot of room for all of us. It’d be really cramped. Are you alright with that?”

 

Thomas offers, “We could go to my apartment.” Why had he said that? He doesn’t particularly want all these people crowding his peaceful apartment, but it’s too late now.

 

Alexander looks genuinely surprised. “Are you sure? We wouldn’t want to-”

 

“I’m sure.” Thomas assures him, not sure at all. He gives Alexander his address and opens his book, hoping to evade the dread already setting in. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas is practically vibrating with anxiety. He wishes he’d had the forethought to have James come earlier, but it’s too late now.

 

There’s a sturdy knock at the door. Thomas takes a deep breath, braces himself, and opens it, putting on a welcoming smile. To his relief, it’s Angelica.

 

“Hi, Thomas.” She greets him, smiling. She wanders inside, staring around. “Nice place you’ve got here. I expected more, somehow.”

 

It’s true, Thomas supposes. He could’ve bought some penthouse apartment with his fortune, but he doesn’t  _ need  _ it. Even so, his place is ostentatious, despite its rather average size. 

 

He’s about to show her around when someone else knocks on the door. He hears a low thrum of voices that only becomes louder as he nears the entrance. Thomas is utterly unsurprised when he finds Alexander, Lafayette, Laurens, and Mulligan. “Welcome.” He says coolly, pretending not to notice as all four of them immediately begin to catalogue the apartment. 

 

“Hi.” Alexander greets him, grinning.

 

“Hey.” Thomas replies, turning to greet Eliza, Maria, and Peggy. James soon follows, and Thomas wants to shout at him for arriving  _ last _ , but he can’t. He has to act calm, collected, and confident around all these people.

 

“What are we watching?” Laurens asks when everyone’s settled on the couches.

 

Alexander shouts, “The Princess Bride!” At the same time Mulligan says, “Anything but the Princess Bride.” He glares at Alexander, who pouts. 

 

“Romantics Anonymous.” Maria suggests.

 

“I agree with Maria.” Lafayette says.

 

“That’s just because it’s French, you baguette fucker.” Laurens snaps. “I vote Pacific Rim.”

 

Thomas watches in appalled silence as they bicker for nearly ten minutes more. Alexander has shitty taste in movies, apparently, and has forced his friends to watch the Princess Bride more times than they can count, and Lafayette loves any movie that’s romantic and/or French.

 

Finally, at Eliza’s suggestion, they agree on Moonrise Kingdom. Thomas hasn’t seen it before, so he’s looking forward to it. 

 

About fifteen minutes in, though, he’s distracted by Alexander leaning into his side. Thomas isn’t sure Alexander even notices he’s doing it, he’s still completely absorbed in the movie. Thomas lets him, relishing the warmth and closeness. 

 

By the end of the film, Alexander is practically glued to Thomas’s side, but Thomas doesn’t mind in the least. They’re getting a few odd looks, but Thomas doesn’t find it in himself to care.

 

“Rent.” Alex says as soon as the credits roll. All of his friends stare at him, unimpressed. “Please, you guys never let me watch it, and besides, my birthday’s in a few days. You  _ have _ to watch it.” Alexander’s birthday is soon? Thomas wonders how he’s never found out his room mate’s birthday. He’ll ask Angelica sooner or later.

 

“ _ Fine _ .” Laurens sighs with a long-suffering expression. “But if you sing along, I swear to  _ god _ , Alexander, I will-”

 

“Hey, I don’t want to watch Rent.” Peggy says, narrowing her eyes. “Do the rest of us get a say? Are we not a democratic-”

 

“This is a dictatorship.” Laurens says, staring at Peggy unblinkingly. 

 

Peggy forms a delicate moue with her red lips, conveying her utter distaste for Laurens in one effective look. Laurens almost breaks under her glare, but powers through. 

 

“Rent it is!” Alex shouts, scrambling for the remote. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

By the song  _ Halloween _ , Alex is asleep, head cushioned in Thomas’s lap. His eyes are still red from crying at Angel’s death, and Thomas finds it terribly endearing, though he’d never say it aloud. He absently threads his fingers through Alexander’s hair, and is immediately assaulted with a suspicious look from Laurens. He sighs and ignores him, turning his attention back to the movie. 

 

Thomas is ready to sleep by the time Rent ends, but the others (even James, to Thomas’s surprise) are still fully awake. They put on Space Jam, and Thomas begins to question his sanity. Before the movie begins, he kicks James, sitting on his other side, off the couch so he can lie down. Alexander climbs on top of him. Thomas is sure that Alexander’s not entirely conscious, but he’s too tired to mind. He makes himself comfortable and throws one arm over the smaller man before drifting into a peaceful slumber.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Peggy breathes, “we need photographic evidence of this.” She points at Alex sprawled over Thomas, whose arm is wrapped around Alex’s waist.

 

Lafayette recalls the morning after Alex slept with Him, John, and Hercules. He’d barged into Alex and Thomas’s room to find Thomas wrapped around Alex, both comfortably working. Perhaps situations such as this aren’t as rare as they think. After all, Alex does have a tendency to hide things, no matter how much he talks.

 

James is wearing a knowing expression, which is nearly enough to confirm Lafayette’s theory. James smiles fondly at his sleeping friend, but looks mildly alarmed when Peggy begins to take pictures. Alex wouldn’t like this, and he doubts Thomas would, either, but he won’t stop it, not if it means Alex will finally tell his friends everything he tries so hard to hide.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I’m surprised Hamilton didn’t tell his friends about his thing with you.” James remarks casually, raising an eyebrow. “Since he talks so much and all.”

 

Thomas sighs. “I thought they knew. And Peggy has pictures-” he stops mid sentence, breath quickening. Peggy has  _ pictures _ , she thought it was so absurd that Alexander was sleeping with Thomas that she photographed it. 

 

“Woah, woah.” James murmurs. “Shh, slow down. It’s alright. It’s not as bad as you’re thinking.” He places a comforting hand on Thomas’s shoulder. 

 

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Thomas says rather pettishly. 

 

“You focus on the worst outcome in every situation, Thomas, it’s not hard to guess.” James sighs, resigned.

 

Thomas doesn’t reply, staring up at the drab ceiling from James’s bed. He wonders how many times they’ve been in this situation: Thomas complaining about something or other, bewailing his choices, while James sits patiently and talks him through it, until Thomas finally gives up and stares hollowly at James’s walls until well past nightfall. He’s afraid James will tire of his unhappy lamentations and seemingly endless depressive periods one day, but he doesn’t dare mention it. He has no way of gaging James’s reaction to something as heavy as that. 

 

He sits up and leans over James’s shoulder as he types, working on something for Lee’s class, a class he shares with Alexander, which Thomas is definitely not jealous of. 

 

Definitely not.

 

“Thomas,” James asks hesitantly, shutting his laptop, “are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting the way you do when you-”

 

Thomas sits back and cuts him off. “It’s nothing. It’s just everything that’s been going on with Alexander. I’m okay, James, I swear.”

 

“Your mooning over Alexander has been taking a huge toll on you, Thomas, and you know it.” James reminds him, cocking an eyebrow in an implicit accusation. “It would do you good to just  _ tell  _ him how you feel.”

 

“I can’t do that. If he rejects me, we’ll-”

 

“You can’t think about that.” James interrupts. “If you focus on the negatives of every situation, you’ll never get anything done. You know that.”

 

“I can’t, James. I can’t say anything.” His voice is racked with desperation. He backs up against the wall, breathing in long, shuddering breaths. 

 

“It’s okay, Thomas, it’s alright.” James mutters. “But something’s got to change, sooner or later. You do know what’s wrong, don’t you?”

 

Thomas shrugs helplessly. “It hurts, James. I have him with me all night, and then it’s morning and everything’s the same as it’s always been. We’re friends, but nothing more. I see him walking around wearing my own  _ sweater _ , and I fucking hate how much it stings. But I don’t want to let it go.” His voice breaks and he lets out half-sob, half-laugh. “I can’t let him go. Isn’t that so fucked up, Jemmy?” 

 

James sighs and sits beside Thomas. “It’s not, it’s completely understandable.” He pauses, as if choosing his words cautiously. “It’s just not healthy to keep doing what you are. I know you don’t want to change it, but just… keep everything I’ve said in mind, okay? Talk to me whenever.” He pauses again, knitting his brows in a thoroughly conflicted expression. “And Thomas, if you can’t talk to me, there’s always another option. I know you don’t like it, but I think a therapist would help you.”

 

Thomas shakes his head mutely. A part of him  _ knows _ James is right, but he can’t do it. He freezes up at the thought of pouring his soul out to a complete stranger, even if said stranger is a professional. 

 

James rolls his eyes as Thomas leans onto him, already halfway lost in a deep, harrowing reverie. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

When Thomas returns to his room late that night, Alexander is buried in some atrociously long, even to Thomas’s standards, book. His hair spills out messily from beneath an unfamiliar hat, a snapback with the Captain America symbol on it. The soundtrack to Book of Mormon is blasting and Alexander seems to be mouthing the words as he reads. 

 

Thomas settles onto his bed as a new song begins. “ _ Hello _ ,” he sings under his breath, “ _ my name is Elder Price, and I would like to share with you the most amazing book. _ ” 

 

Alexander finally seems to notice Thomas’s presence in the room. “Oh, I can turn this off, if you want.” He says, dog earing a page in his book. 

 

“No, I like it.” Thomas replies. He continues to hum quietly for a few seconds more before Alexander bursts out, “I didn’t know you liked Book of Mormon!”

 

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “I love musicals. We watched Rent together, Alexander.”

 

“Ugh, I want to see Book of Mormon so badly.” Alexander groans. “What would it be like to see Spooky Mormon Hell Dream live? I bet it’s an acid trip, Thomas, an acid trip I’d die to see.”

 

“What’s with the hat?” Thomas asks, changing the subject. It suits Alexander, if he’s honest, but he’s not going to  _ say _ that.

 

“Oh, uh…” Alexander’s cheeks redden. “I like to steal things from my exes. That gray sweater, that was Laf’s. My nail polish is taken from Eliza. This hat, it was John’s.” He explains, rather bashfully. 

 

_ Oh _ . Thomas feels a little rush of happiness. Now, he can be  _ sure _ Alexander’s not dating Laurens. “How did you steal so  _ much _ nail polish from Eliza?” He asks, because Alexander has a  _ lot _ . 

 

He shrugs. “I bought some of it, but eventually she began to just give them to me, when she noticed I liked them so much.” His expression darkens, and Thomas recalls their conversation after they’d watched Rent. Alexander had cheated on Eliza.

 

“What other musicals do you like?” Thomas asks.

 

“The Producers,” Alexander answers immediately, “and 1776. And Wicked. And Rent, of course. There’s a lot more, but those are my favourites.”

 

Thomas grins. “The Producers is alright. Wicked is amazing, and Kinky Boots. A Chorus Line is one of my favourites, too.”

 

“I haven’t heard A Chorus Line.” Alexander says.

 

Thomas smiles even wider. “Turn off Book of Mormon, then. I have to show you one singular sensation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i love a chorus line so much???? anyway. tell me what you thought!! i love hearing from you!!


	13. thirteen

**Me:** _ Hey Angelica Alexander said his birthday was soon what day is it? _

**Angelica:** _ why don’t you ask him thomas? _

**Me:** _ I’m not with him right now and he always forgets to answer his phone. _

**Angelica:** _ he always answers if it’s you _

**Me:** _ What? _

**Angelica:** _ january 11th, tomorrow. _

 

<><><><><><>

 

“You guys, you didn’t have to do this, I didn’t even get you any Christmas presents, I don’t deserve all this.” Alex cries, smiling.

 

“You’re our friend, Alex, of course we have to give you presents on your birthday.” Hercules retorts. 

 

Eliza nods in agreement. “Of course.”

 

“Open ours first.” John insists, grinning widely. Lafayette nods in agreement, thrusting a box covered in messily wrapped gift wrap. Alex tears it open, sighing at the taped shut box. 

 

“Why would you do this to me?” He asks, sighing. “I’m too weak and lazy to open this.” He pushes the box aside and turns his nose up. “I will open it when someone fetches me an exacto knife.”

 

“Oh,  _ fetch _ you an exacto knife?” John says, imitating Alex’s haughty tone. “You sound like George King. You know what, I’ll take that exacto knife and I’ll shove it up your-”

 

“I’ll get the knife.” Hercules elbows John as he speaks, sighing exasperatedly. 

 

“In the meantime,” Peggy says, “open mine.”

 

“It’s from the both of us.” Angelica cuts in, casting an unamused glance at her youngest sister. Peggy hands Alex an inconspicuous brown bag. After reading the card, he removes the tissue paper to find a soft gray scarf, and beneath it, a gift card to some hole-in-the-wall coffee shop.

 

“It stays open til three a.m.,” Peggy explains, “and I think you could fund their entire shop with your caffeine addiction.”

 

“Thank you so much, guys.” Alex hugs Peggy and then Angie. 

 

“Aw, did y’all start without me?” Hercules demands, tossing Alex the knife. 

 

“It was Peggy’s fault.” Alex immediately says. Peggy sticks her tongue out but doesn’t deny it.

 

Alex cuts the box open, and is met with… another box. He glares at John and opens the box, immensely grateful to see that the gift is there, and not another box. 

 

The card is handmade. The front is a drawing, obviously by John, of a  _ turtle _ , of all things. The inside has slightly affectionate and somewhat threatening messages from John, Hercules, and Lafayette. He thanks them and turns back to the box. 

 

“The fuck is this?” Alex mutters. There’s a collection of t-shirts. The first he pulls out is black and reads [got Hamilton?](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/f2/e3/4b/f2e34b78ea1266bc87a829b3e9ddab1a.jpg) . “Where did you even find this? It’s like, three sizes too big.”

 

“John saw some kid walking around with a Hamilton shirt, as in that one city in Canada, and it  _ inspired  _ him.” Hercules explains, sighing at John.

 

Alex shakes his head and digs into the box once again.[ This shirt, in boxy script, says ](http://skreened.com/render-product/o/w/k/owkerakynqaukaenykja/image.skreened-t-shirt.light-heathered-grey.w460h520b3z1.jpg) [ _ young, scrappy, and hungry, just like my country _ ](http://skreened.com/render-product/o/w/k/owkerakynqaukaenykja/image.skreened-t-shirt.light-heathered-grey.w460h520b3z1.jpg) [.](http://skreened.com/render-product/o/w/k/owkerakynqaukaenykja/image.skreened-t-shirt.light-heathered-grey.w460h520b3z1.jpg) “I said that  _ once _ ,” Alex begins, “and I was  _ drunk _ , will you ever let it go? Like, it’s not even that funny.”

 

Lafayette laughs. “We can’t help it if you are a poetic drunk, Alex.” 

 

“Look at the last one.” John urges, smirking. Alex takes out the last t shirt apprehensively. He’s only a little relieved when he finds [a shirt that says ‘id fistfight thomas jefferson’](http://rlv.zcache.com/fight_me_thomas_t_shirt-r13a12083c091498e845e0323659d47cf_jyr6b_512.jpg).

 

“What bad grammar.” Alex mutters. “I don’t even fight with him that much anymore.”

 

Peggy scoffs. “So you agree with his political views?”

 

“I never said that!” Alex cries, glaring at Peggy. “He’s still a southern motherfucking republican, he can’t see that-”

 

“A southern motherfucking republican you’d like to do much more than  _ fistfight _ with, huh?” John waggles his eyebrows lecherously, licking his lips.

 

“I hate you.” Alex sighs, balling up the shirt and throwing it at John’s face. It sails over John’s shoulder, which makes him laugh even more. 

 

“There’s something else, look.” Hercules informs him. Alex looks to the bottom of the box to find an innocent picture book face down. He picks it up and finds it titled [Go the Fuck to Sleep](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11192642-go-the-fuck-to-sleep) . 

 

“No.” Alex hisses at the book. To his friends, he says honestly, “You guys are  _ giant, living, literal assholes _ . Thank you.” John, Hercules, and Lafayette move to hug him all at once. It’s rather overwhelming, but he takes it in stride.

 

“Open ours now!” Eliza says excitedly. Maria nods and gives him a gift bag. Alex opens to to find a wide variety of items: nail polish, hair elastics, and a miscellany of other hair products. 

 

“Thank you so much, oh my god.” Alex breathes, hugging Eliza and Maria. 

 

“Happy birthday, Alex.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex returns to his room late in the evening. He dumps his heap of presents on the ground and collapses on his bed. The day had been fun, but long, and Alex is ready to sleep. He rummages around his messy pile of clothes to find his pajamas.

 

“I heard it’s your birthday.” Thomas says.

 

All traces of exhaustion vanish. “You heard correctly.”

 

“I got you something.” Thomas crosses the room and hands him an envelope. Alex tears it open, anticipating a card of some sort, but he’s surprised by… tickets.

 

_ Book of Mormon _ tickets.

 

“I can’t accept this, Thomas, it’s too much.” Alex mutters. “I don’t want you to spend that much money on me, you didn’t have to-”

 

“I want to. Take whoever you want.” Thomas interrupts him, smiling. “Besides, you told me just the other day you really want to see it. Now you can, Alexander, just accept something nice, okay?. The show’s in July.”

 

Alex glares and puts down the tickets before digging into his pile of gifts. After locating the shirt he wanted, he, while maintaining eye contact with Thomas, pulls on the white t shirt reading  _ id fistfight thomas jefferson _ . 

 

“Did you get that custom made? Gee, Alexander, I’m just  _ honoured _ you’d put so much effort into-”

 

“John, Herc, and Laf got it for me.” Alex cuts him off. He hesitates for a split second before hugging Thomas. “Thanks, asshole.” 

 

Thomas seems to flounder for a moment before reciprocating. “It was my pleasure, you jackass.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

 **(Unknown Number):** _do you think you can hide her from me?_

**(Unknown Number):** _ the whole world will know your secret _

**(Unknown Number):** _ alexander. _

 

Alex nearly throws his phone across the room. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

“If it is James,” Maria says shakily, “the best we can do right now is stay away from him.”

 

“He’s trying to get to you, we have to  _ do _ something!” Alex snaps, seething.

 

Eliza narrows her eyes. “Reynolds is  _ trying _ to get to you, Alex.  _ Doing something _ is exactly what he wants. He’s trying to bait you because he knows you’re the most likely to act out and play right into his hands.”

 

Alex sighs. “I just feel so helpless. I hate just sitting here, Liza.”

 

Her face turns unexpectedly soft. “We all do, but this is what’s best.”

 

Maria lets out a gusty breath. “Can we maybe talk about something else? I just…”

 

“Of course.” Eliza murmurs, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend. “Anything.”

 

Maria brightens up as she says, “What do you two know about Angelica’s new girlfriend?”

 

Alex’s face splits into a grin. “Angie got herself a girl?”

 

Eliza smiles devilishly. “All I know about her is her name starts with M. I heard them talking on the phone, but I couldn’t really hear anything from outside of the door.”

 

“She says they aren’t girlfriends yet, but she smiles every time we mention her.” Maria informs Alex. “She’ll be coming to our movie nights before we know it.” She smirks a little, turns to Alex, and says innocently, “Speaking of dates, I heard  _ someone  _ bought you tickets to Book of Mormon.”

 

Alex freezes. “Can we talk about… literally anything else?”

 

“Nope!” Eliza says, grinning. “You should just tell him how you feel, Alex. There’s no use in putting it off so long.”

 

Alex gapes at the two women. “Except, if he rejects me, I’ll have to life with him for the rest of the year, it will ruin our friendship, not to mention  _ I will never be able to even look at him ever again _ .” He almost shouts in one breath. “I can’t do it, and I won’t.”  _ My mom just died _ , Alex adds silently,  _ I can’t even think about that right now _ .

 

Eliza frowns, unimpressed. “Usually, you’re confident and too talkative for your own good. Where’s that Alex? Telling everyone the complete and utter truth is your specialty.” She raises an eyebrow and cocks her head. 

 

“Not  _ everyone _ would ridicule me for the rest of our lives, would they?” Alex snaps, crossing his arms petulantly. 

 

“One day, Alex, you two will end up married with sixty grandkids, just wait.” Eliza promises him, winking. 

 

Alex pouts. “I wish.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

As soon as Alex leaves the comforting company of Eliza and Maria, he feels the familiar shadow of anxiety prowling. What secret is it that James Reynolds threatened to share? The shadow follows him as he walks to work. He narrows it down to two possibilities: it could be his feelings about Thomas, or it could be the fact that Washington is his father. The thought of either of those getting out sends a jolt of unease up his spine. 

 

He arrives at Starbucks and nods in greeting at his coworker, John Jay, an occasionally lazy man who Alex doesn’t particularly enjoy working with. He puts on a smile and prepares to greet the next customer. Before he can speak, however, the customer interrupts him. “So that’s how you win all those debates in class, Hamilton.” Suddenly, Alex recognizes the sneering, haughty voice and choppy copper hair. “We all knew you were a teacher’s pet, but the teacher’s  _ son _ ?” Samuel Seabury says pompously. 

 

“Did your boyfriend tell you to say that, or did you manage to come up with something on your own for once?” Alex retorts, scowling. Seabury is a quiet kid in Alex’s father’s class, and he always echoes what other people say instead of bothering to think of his own ideas. It’s intensely irritating. He spends all of his time with his boyfriend, the notoriously opulent George Frederick King.

 

As if on cue, King himself sashays up to the register. “Don’t talk about my Sammy like that.” Samuel looks annoyed for a half moment before composing himself once again.

 

Alex should let this go. He should ask them if they want any coffee, and if not, for them to leave. Except, he can’t. “Can’t fight your own battles, can you, Seabury?”

 

Seabury’s expression sours. “I am not the one who can’t fight his own battles.” He says disdainfully. “Could you win an argument against Jefferson without your precious father there to tip the scales in your favour? I don’t think so.”

 

“You’re proving my point already. You take what others say and you repeat it instead of  _ actually debating _ . With or without my dad in the equation, I’m a hundred times smarter than you’ll ever be.” Alex rebukes. Seabury looks over to King, who nods. Seabury gives him one last contemptuous look before trailing after his boyfriend as they leave the shop.

 

The next customer, who Alex doesn’t recognize, orders her coffee warily. She hesitates after ordering, as if she thinks Alex is going to start up an argument with her, too. She seems immensely relieved to be out of his presence, and Alex almost feels bad. (Almost. He relishes every chance he gets to fight with bigots like Seabury.)

 

<><><><><><>

 

On his break, Alex checks his phone to find he has texts from nearly all of his friends, all asking how he is. He responds to most of them quickly, informing them that yes, he’s okay. He saves Thomas’s for last.

 

**jefferasshole:** _ I heard what happened are you okay? _

**Me:** _ ya ya im fine i got to trash seabury over it so all in all its not so bad _

**jefferasshole:** _ You’re looking on the bright side, I guess. _

**jefferasshole:** _ Anyway. I’m glad you’re fine and all but aren’t you supposed to be working?? _

**Me:** _ im on break rn _

**jefferasshole:** _ Would it bother you THAT MUCH to type out actual words?  _

**Me:** _ caps???? spicy _

**jefferasshole:** _ Did you just _

**jefferasshole:** _ Spicy? Really???? _

**_Contact name changed from_ ** **jefferasshole** **_to_ ** **spicy tom** **_._ **

**Me:** _ ok spicy tom _

**spicy tom:** _ YOU FUCKER _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: me and alexander hamilton share the same birthday
> 
> someone may have predicted the book of mormon tickets. you know who you are. 
> 
> anyway, thank you for all your wonderful comments, they make me so happy!!!


	14. fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for uploading so much later than usual, today was my first day of school. anyway!! i've been excited for all of you lovely people to read this chapter for a while!! (also, spot the not-so-subtle reference to the producers)

“Hercules is like… the dad friend.” Alex says to Eliza. “Have you ever noticed that? He literally made John a suit once.”

 

Eliza scoffs as she braids his hair. “I sincerely hope you never, ever say that to anyone but me, because Hercules is anything but dad-like to John.”

 

“Right.” Alex mutters. “But like… last year, I said I was cold, so he knit me a scarf. He didn’t want me to freeze so he  _ knit me a scarf _ .” He looks up thoughtfully. “And you’re obviously the mom friend.”

 

“If I’m the mom and Hercules is the dad, what does that make you?” She asks. 

 

“I’m…” He trails off, thinking. “I’m not sure.”

 

“I think,” she begins, then cuts herself off with, “hand me that elastic?” After tying up his braid, she starts again, “I think you’d be the baby, because we practically have to force feed you, and it’s impossible to get you to sleep.”

 

He can’t come up with a counterargument, to his frustration. “I am a grown man.” He finally mutters under his breath, pouting. 

 

“A grown man who can’t function on his own!” Eliza reminds him in a singsongy voice. Alex sticks his tongue out and reaches for a bottle of green nail polish, but she stops him. 

 

“Wait, wait.” Eliza says. “You can’t start that now.”

 

“Why not?” Alex narrows his eyes, snatching the polish from her reach. 

 

She looks mildly guilty. “We’re going out soon, it’ll take too long for your nails to dry.”

 

He frowns. “Where are we going, Elizabeth?”

 

She sighs. ‘“It was supposed to be a surprise. I’ve already ruined it, do I  _ have _ to?”

 

“You don’t  _ have _ to do anything,” Alex says carefully, “but since you’ve already ruined the surprise, you may as well tell me.” He shrugs.

 

“Well,” she says reluctantly, “we’re going to central park, to cheer you up after everything about your dad got out.”

 

“ _ Central park _ ?” Alex spits incredulously. “It’s so cold, Betsey. I will become a walking, talking ice cube out there.”

 

She winces. “This is why I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Can you please come, for me?” She pleads, then adds slyly, “Jefferson- er, Thomas is going to be there, by the way.”

 

“I hate that that actually convinces me.” Alex growl. “Ugh. It’s going to be your fault when I freeze to death.”

 

“Well, Thomas will be there to keep you warm, and give you mouth to mouth, if needed.”

 

“ _ Elizabeth Schuyler _ , I did not expect that from you.”

 

“ _ Alexander Hamilton _ , you should have.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I hate you all.” Alexander mutters. He looks comical, bundled in two sweaters, a heavy jacket, a dark knit scarf, woollen mittens, and earmuffs. His hair is in a beautiful french braid that will no doubt be messy, if not destroyed, by the end of the day. 

 

“C’mon, let’s build a snowman!” Eliza says excitedly, and suddenly Thomas feels out of place. James hadn’t been able to come, what with him being easily susceptible to sickness. Before he has a chance to overthink his situation, Alexander grabs his arm. “We’re building a snow fort.” he informs Thomas, leaving no room for argument. Thomas wouldn’t have objected anyway, not with Alexander. 

 

“Do you even know how to build a snow fort?” Thomas asks as they search for a fresh patch of snow.

 

“It seems pretty simple.” Alexander replies. “Do you, Mr. I-grew-up-in-a-castle-in-Virginia?”

 

“It’s not like it’s never snowed in Virginia,” Thomas retorts, “unlike Nevis.”

 

Alexander sticks his tongue out and points at a clear area, snow clean and crisp. Thomas begins to roll a ball of sticky snow, urging Alexander to do the same.

 

“That doesn’t look fun at all. Why do people like snow? It’s cold and wet.” He mutters, scrunching up his nose adorably. 

 

“You wanted to build a snow fort, didn’t you? Do your part.” Thomas commands. “It’s not gonna kill you.”

 

“What if I get frostbite?” Alexander sounds genuinely frightened, and it’s the most endearing thing Thomas has ever seen. 

 

“You won’t get frostbite. If people got frostbite from being in the snow for an hour in mildly cold weather, wearing more than enough warm clothing, the Canadians would be extinct.” Thomas replies patiently. “Now c’mon, I’m not doing this all on my own.”

 

Hesitantly, Alexander crouches down and scoops up a clump of snow, tossing it between his hands experimentally. Finally, he begins to move it through the fresh snow, grinning a little as it continually gains size. When it’s up to his knees, Alex asks, “Is it big enough yet?”

 

Thomas laughs. “You’re gonna need a lot more than just one average sized snowball to build a fort, darlin’.” The pet name slips out unintentionally.  _ Freudian slip _ , his brain whispers, but Thomas does his best to ignore it and not let the keen claws of anxiety tear him down. Alexander doesn’t seem to have noticed. If James were here, he’d tell Thomas to stop focussing on the worst outcome of the situation, so that’s what Thomas does, or  _ tries _ to.

 

“My hands are cold, though.” Alexander gripes, making an irritated face.

 

“That’s what you get for wearing wool mitts.” Thomas mutters, moving onto his third snow boulder compared to Alexander’s meager one. “Work, Alexander. I will push you into the snow.”

 

Alexander whimpers in defeat and starts again, muttering under his breath about  _ goddamn Thomas Jefferson _ and  _ why am I even here _ . Thomas would laugh if not for the fact that it made him all the more attracted to him. 

 

They manage to build a small wall before Alexander snaps, “I don’t have the patience for this, Thomas, I don’t understand how anyone does it. It’s too goddamn cold.”

 

Thomas scoffs. “This is nothing and you know it, Alexander.”

 

“Don’t remind me.” He hisses, kicking a clump of snow in the air. 

 

They find the others fighting over a name for the snowman. “I say we name him Georges.” Lafayette says, crossing his arms.

 

“Get over your obsession with my dad, please.” Alexander cuts in, nearly tripping. 

 

“Yeah, Laf, we’re starting to get jealous.” Laurens adds. He’s holding Mulligan’s hand, and suddenly, it makes sense why Alexander always talks about the three of them as if they’re one.  _ JohnHercandLaf _ , never one without the other two.  _ Oh _ .

 

“Let’s name him Frosty.” Eliza suggests. “You can’t go wrong with traditional.”

 

Maria sighs. “Betsey, I love you more than anything in the world, but  _ Frosty _ ?”

 

Eliza scowls. “What do you suggest?”

 

“How about… Karen, after Frosty’s best friend.” Maria says.

 

“Okay, you know  _ what _ ,” Mulligan chimes in, “if you turn Karen herself into a snowman, you ruin the whole point of the movie. It’s about-”

 

“We’re not having a debate about Frosty the Snowman characters.” Laurens interrupts, kissing Hercules on the cheek when he glares at him. 

 

“I think it’s a pretty worthy subject-” Alexander says, stepping forward.

 

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Is there nothing you won’t fight about?”

 

Alexander turns around and glowers. “No.” He reaches toward the ground and scoops up a chunk of snow, pats it into a ball, and throws it directly at Thomas. Too stunned to move, it hits him in the shoulder. The others stare, waiting for the situation to unfold. Finally, Thomas throws one back, but Alexander ducks and it hits Hercules in the arm. Hercules doesn’t seem to mind, but he tackles Laurens when he and Lafayette gang up on him. 

 

Thomas is distracted from Mulligan’s spectacle by Alexander aiming another snowball at him. “Oh, it’s  _ on _ .” He shouts as he hits Alexander in the leg. Alexander makes another snowball and runs, only to be assaulted by another round of cold ammunition. 

 

“You fucker!” He yells, turning around for a moment to throw his snowball. It hits Thomas lightly on the arm. Thomas huffs and speeds up, knocking Alexander to the ground. Somehow, he ends up braced on top of the smaller man. Their faces are mere inches apart. Thomas can feel Alexander’s warm breath on his nose, and if he just leaned down, he could kiss him. Alexander stares up at him expectantly, apprehensively, and Thomas  _ wants _ it more than he’s wanted anything. He can feel it: Alexander’s lips on his, rolling around in the snow, but-

 

No. Abruptly, Thomas rolls over and stands up, brushing the snow off of himself. Alexander does the same after a split second of hesitation. It’s only a split second, but Thomas knows he’ll be obsessing over his friend’s tiny moment of reluctance for days. 

 

They make their way back to the rest of their friends in silence, neither willing to mention what just transpired between them.

 

It’s dissolved into an every-man-for-himself snowball fight, and instead of joining in, Alexander announces, “Since you all came here for me, I will name the snowman and end this war.”

 

Everyone freezes. “You don’t have that kind of power.” Laurens sallies, thrusting a finger forward in accusation.

 

“I name the snowman,” Alexander says portentously, “Ulla Inga Hansen Benson Yansen Tallen Hallen Svaden Swanson Bloom.”

 

A beat of silence. Then, “You’re such a huge fucking nerd, Alex.” Eliza nods in agreement with her younger sister at the statement. 

 

“How do you even  _ remember _ that name?” Laurens sighs, collapsing into the snow. Lafayette throws himself down next to Laurens, and Mulligan soon joins them. 

 

The rest of the day passes with Thomas in a constant state of more than mild anxiety, but luckily, no one seems to notice.

 

As soon as he’s home and changed out of his winter clothes, he texts James.

 

**Jemmy:** _ Jaaaames guess what happened?? _ __  
  


<><><><><><>

 

“I fucked up so bad, John.” Alex moans, putting his phone on speaker. 

 

“While I’d love to help you,” John replies breathlessly, “can you call Eliza or someone? I’m a little  _ busy  _ right now.”

 

“Why would you even answer the  _ phone _ if you’re that busy?” Alex snaps. It doesn’t take him long, though, to figure out what the emphasis on  _ busy _ paired with John’s breathy voice means. “You ass, I sincerely hope no one is sucking your dick right now. We got back, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

 

“Ask no-” his breath catches and he continues on, “ask no questions and receive no lies.” There’s a static noise as if John’s dropped the phone, a shout, then Lafayette’s voice. “You’re welcome to come and join us, mon ami.” Within seconds, the line cuts out. 

 

_ Well _ . He sighs defeatedly and dials Angelica, or, he begins to. Before he can, Thomas opens the door. Alex recalls suddenly that he’s wrapped in Thomas’s blankets, as well as his own. Oops.

 

“Is that my duvet?” Thomas asks doubtfully, pausing in the doorway. 

 

“...No.” Alex replies, burrowing deeper into the nest of covers. 

 

Thomas sighs. “Sure it’s not.” He sits on his bare bed and takes out his phone. Alexander, on an impulse, asks, “Can you do my hair? Eliza did it before we left, but it came out and I don’t know how to french braid.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Thomas accepts immediately, throwing his phone aside and crossing the room. He sits behind Alex and runs his fingers through his hair, separating it into sections. Soon, the only sound in the room is Thomas humming softly under his breath. 

 

Rashly and with no forethought, Alex asks, “What happened at the park, between us, that was… that was nothing, right?” The words feel heavy on his tongue. Thomas’s hands freeze in his hair.

 

“Nothing.” He agrees, continuing the plait. Alex thinks he feels a little piece of himself shrivel up, but he doesn’t let it show. 

 

_ Nothing _ .

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas has to work not to yank on Alexander’s hair.

 

_ Nothing _ . It meant nothing. Alexander doesn’t want him. Thomas is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! comments make me so happy!!


	15. fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the update is so late, it's been a really busy day for me!!! Updates will usually be in the evening now instead of the morning thanks to school.

**Me:** _I’m going to my apartment for a few days._

**Jemmy:** _ what why? are you ok what happened? _

**Jemmy:** _ thomas answer me _

**Jemmy:** _ please _

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas dumps his hastily packed bags on the floor of his apartment.  _ Nothing _ , his mind whispers,  _ it meant nothing _ . He punches the wall and barely comprehends the aching sensation, hoping distantly it’s not broken. 

 

_ Nothing _ .

 

Why in hell had Thomas ever thought he’d had even the smallest chance with Alexander? Alexander doesn’t like him, no one ever does. James is going to get fed up with him one day, and then he’ll  _ really _ be alone. 

 

The conversation plays on an endless loop in his head.  _ “What happened at the park, between us, that was… that was nothing, right? _ ” And what could Thomas do but agree, when that’s clearly what Alexander wanted?

 

“Nothing,” he mutters under his breath. Tears begin to stream down his face in sobbing torrents. “Fuck!” he curses, finding his bed and falling onto it. It occurs to him that he’s left his antidepressants at the dorm, but it’s unimportant now. 

 

Alexander doesn’t want him. No one does, no one ever will. It’s like Jack all over again.

 

John “Jack” Hemings had been Thomas’s boyfriend from sophomore year till a few months before graduation. Their whole relationship had been a shitshow, but Thomas loved Jack too much to let him go. Eventually, Jack got fed up and outed them both to the whole school. The shitshow turned into a shitstorm. 

 

Thomas lets out another wrecked sob. He doesn’t want to think about Jack or Alexander, or anything at all, really. He curls up under his warm duvet and screws his eyes shut, desperate for sleep.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Thomas!” Alex shouts, banging on his door. “Thomas Jefferson, let me inside or I’ll kick your goddamn door in.”

 

Thomas opens the door. “You’re not strong enough, you dick. I was sleeping.” His eyes are lined with dark circles and his hair is flattened on one side as if he’d been laying on it.

 

“Sleeping?” Alex demands as he pushes past Thomas into the messy apartment. “It’s four in the afternoon, why would you be asleep?”

 

“How did you even know I was here, Alexander?”

 

“I haven’t seen you since yesterday and you weren’t with James, so where else would you be?” Thomas glares at him. “Fine, fine. I texted Jimmy James and he said you were here and he was  _ going _ to come see you, but I came instead.”

 

“Come in, I guess.” Thomas mutters, shutting the door with a bang. Louder, he says, “What are you doing here?”

 

“What am  _ I _ doing here? What are you doing here, wallowing in misery?” Alex points an accusatory finger at Thomas. “I,” he announces, “am going to cheer you the fuck up.” Out of his many bags, he pulls out a smaller pouch full of nail polish. 

 

“Are you?” Thomas grumbles, sighing as Alex pulls him to the couch. He selects a sparkling gold colour and grabs Thomas’s hand (which he does not freak out about, thank you very much). 

 

He starts with the thumb, meticulously working so none of the polish touches Thomas’s skin. Thomas’s hand seems to be shaking, but Alex doesn’t comment on it. While he really does want to help his friend, he also would hate to overstep his boundaries.

 

Once he finishes Thomas’s right hand, he says, “Are you going to talk? Like, at all?”

 

“Nope.” Thomas replies, nearly smiling.

 

“Fine, then.”

 

He does Thomas’s left hand with ease, and as soon as he’s done, Thomas asks impatiently, “How long til these dry?”

 

“I dunno.” Alex replies with a shrug. “Netflix?”

 

<><><><><><>

 

By the end of  _ Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo _ , which was of course preceded by the first  _ Breakin’ _ , Alex announces, “What food do you have here? It’s getting late and I’m hungry.”

 

“Macaroni.” Thomas replies dryly.

 

“Where’s your  _ livelihood _ , Thomas?” Alex cries, rummaging through Thomas’s cupboard to find that he wasn’t lying when he said macaroni. There’s  _ nothing else _ .

 

“My livelihood died the moment you uttered the word  _ Breakin’ _ .” Thomas growls. 

 

Alex scoffs and picks a random box of mac and cheese. He’s surprised that the place isn’t stocked with rich people food. He can’t define exactly what  _ rich people food _ is, but Thomas would definitely have it. 

 

“You can go home, you know.” Thomas says quietly. “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

 

“Yes, there is.” Alex affirms. “You’re my friend.”

 

Thomas doesn’t reply. After what feels like hours of unbearable silence, Alex arrives at the couch with two bowls of mac and cheese. “Eat.” He commands. Thomas takes the bowl and glares at him. 

 

Alex watches warily as Thomas pushes his food around. He slept all day and still manages to look immensely tired, and he seems to be drained of all motivation. Maybe Thomas isn’t as okay as Alex thought he was. 

 

After eating barely half the bowl, Thomas says, “I don’t need you here. I was fine on my own.”

 

Alex scoffs. “Clearly, you’re not fine. You slept till four in the afternoon, you’re still exhausted, and you’ve barely eaten. Something’s wrong. Can you tell me what it is?”

 

Thomas stares at him with embittered expression in his eyes. “No.” He spits acerbically, shocking Alex. What could possibly be so awful that Thomas couldn’t breathe a word of it to him? Alex thinks back to the park, but that was  _ nothing _ . Thomas said so himself, right? Nothing.

 

“You’ve been a giant asshole tonight, you know.” Alex says peevishly. 

 

Thomas snorts. “No, I hadn’t noticed.”

 

“What’s  _ wrong _ , Thomas? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me!” Alex barks, clenching his fists in frustration. 

 

“Leave me the fuck alone, Hamilton.”

 

_ Hamilton _ . The name stings like a slap. 

 

The air hangs heavy between them. Thomas looks cagey and cornered, eyes flicking back and forth faster than Alex can follow.

 

“I’m going to bed.” Thomas snaps. 

 

“What did I do wrong?” Alex demands, desperation clear in his ragged voice.

 

Thomas turns around slowly. “Nothing.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Nothing.” Thomas hisses caustically, a mockery of the haunting word that wouldn’t leave his mind. Alexander sits, frozen, in stunned silence. Thomas returns to his room and shuts the door.

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

Why had Alexander even come? He’s the last person Thomas wants to see, but he can’t bring himself to tell the man to leave. He climbs under his fleecy blankets and texts James.

 

**Me:** _ why is alexander here _

**Jemmy:** _ youre not even using grammar thomas a r e y o u o k a y _

**Me:** _ why is alexander here _

**Jemmy:** _ i figured you would want him there? since you won’t even tell ME why youre holed up in your apartment _

**Me:** _ you were pretty damn fucking wrong I came here because I felt shitty about him and now hes not leaving _

**Jemmy:** _ i’m sorry but how was i supposed to know that if you didn’t tell me!!! _

**Jemmy:** _so what did happen_

**Me:** _ I almost kissed him at the park like I told you and then I was doing his hair and he asked what happened at the park was nothing right and I agreed _

**Me:** _ what else was I supposed to say _

**Jemmy:** _ oh thomas i’m so sorry if i had known i would have stopped him from coming _

**Me:** _ could you really have stopped him _

**Jemmy:** _ true _

 

Thomas tosses his phone aside and sighs. If he’s had a few days on his own, maybe he’d be fine for just a little bit longer, but now Alexander is here and he has no safe haven, not any more. James was right, he needs a break. He can’t be so close with Alexander, not all the time. It’ll only cause him more grief.  _ He’s such an idiotic asshole _ , Thomas thinks,  _ why do I love him so much _ ? 

 

He nearly doesn’t catch it. Nearly.

 

_ Why do I  _ love _ him so much? _

 

As if a goddamn awful crush wasn’t enough, Thomas has to be in  _ love _ with Alexander? Alexander Hamilton, the motherfucker who works himself to death and rarely sleeps, who talks too much for his own good, who doesn’t want Thomas and never will.

 

Thomas is in love with a hurricane, and it’s tearing his life apart. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

It must be past midnight when Thomas is awakened by his door opening. He hears the padding of footsteps, then, “Thomas?”

 

He shouldn’t. Thomas needs space from Alexander, he’ll feel like shit the next morning if he does this. James’s words echo in his mind: _ Something’s got to change, sooner or later. You do know what’s wrong, don’t you?  _

 

Except, he can’t.

 

“C’mon.” He whispers, letting Alexander crawl in bed beside him. Immediately, Alexander tucks himself against Thomas. 

 

“Good night.” He murmurs, breath tickling Thomas’s chest. Thomas doesn’t reply.

 

He doesn’t sleep that night.

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I have to leave for work,” Alex says carefully, “you should come back with me.”

 

Thomas crosses his arms and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Why are you so concerned? Y’all think I’m gonna off myself if you leave me alone for ten minutes?” He growls churlishly. 

 

“I don’t think- no, Thomas, I’m worried about you, as your friend, and I want you to come back so you don’t have to be alone.” Alex is losing patience; why won’t Thomas just  _ listen _ to him?

 

“And if I want to be alone?”

 

“Then you’re a fucking dumbass. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

 

“Don’t act like you know what’s best for me, Alexander. You don’t know a fucking thing.”

 

“Fine, then. Keep on wallowing in self pity, see if anyone cares.” Alexander slams the door fractiously on his way out. 

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex is about to barge into Lafayette’s room when he hears James Madison’s voice. “I have to go drop of Thomas’s meds at his apartment,” he says, “I’ll be back soon.”

 

Thomas hadn’t been taking his meds? Maybe that explains his brash behaviour. 

 

Madison sees him standing outside the door as he leaves and narrows his eyes suspiciously, but says nothing. Alex sighs and enters the room, collapsing on one of the beds. “I don’t know what I did,” he mutters, “but Thomas hates me.”

 

“I’m sure he doesn’t.” Hercules assures him kindly.

 

“Why were you guys hanging out with James Madison?”

 

“Why not?” Lafayette replies.

 

“We’re not allowed to?” Angelica asks. 

 

Alex shrugs. “I dunno. It’s just weird seeing him here.”

 

Angelica rolls her eyes. “Get used to it, then.”

 

“I thought you’d go back to Thomas’s after work.” Hercules comments curiously. 

 

“He doesn’t want me there.” Alex murmurs dejectedly. “He was so angry the whole time I was there.”

 

“Maybe,” Angelica says slowly and clearly, “he left because he wanted space.”

 

“He would have said something, then. No, he was just acting all pushy and arrogant.”

 

Lafayette frowns. “Alexander, it doesn’t sound like  _ he _ was the one being pushy.”

 

Alex huffs and doesn’t reply. It can’t be true, can it? Thomas was just being difficult. He’s going through a hard time for reasons he won’t disclose, so he was acting out. Except, Alex was being pushy, but he’s always like that. Surely Thomas wasn’t angry at him for  _ that _ ?

 

Why does Alex have to be so hopelessly infatuated with someone so complex?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i am sorry please feel free to scream at me in the comments


	16. sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to the last chapter blew me away. like. woah. thank you guys so much!!!!
> 
> also, spot the obscure rent reference

“Alex,” Maria sobs hysterically, as soon as Alex answers his phone, “‘Liza and Peggy are in class, I texted them but they won’t answer me, Angie’s gone and I don’t know what to do, I-”

 

“Woah,” Alex cuts her off, “Maria, what happened? Just take a few deep breaths, okay? In and out.”

 

She breathes heavily for a few moments before whispering, “James talked to me. I left the AV building and he was  _ waiting for me _ . He grabbed my arm so hard, but I got out and I ran. I’m in ‘Liza and Angie’s room now, what if he looks for me?”

 

“I’m coming, okay? Stay on the phone with me.” He says, leaving his room. “Just breathe, Maria. It’s alright.” She lets him in when he arrives and he hugs her immediately, letting her cry. “Shh, it’s okay.”

 

Finally, she lets go. Her face is streaked with tears and her mascara runs in black streams down her cheeks. Her arm is faintly bruised around the wrist. “That fucker.” Alex mutters under his breath. 

 

“I don’t know what he wants with me.” Maria whispers with a shiver. “I thought I was done with him. I don’t know what I did.”

 

“You didn’t do anything.” Alex soothes her. “James Reynolds is a creepy asshole and we won’t let him anywhere near you ever again.”

 

Shortly, Eliza bursts into the room and sweeps Maria up in her arms. “Mimi,” she murmurs, “it’s okay, it’s okay. Did he hurt you?”

 

Maria shows her the quickly darkening bruise on her forearm, and Alex feels like he’s intruding on something truly intimate. He makes a move to leave, but Maria shakes her head. “Stay.” 

 

“What are we going to do?” Alex asks. “I know you said that there’s nothing we  _ can _ do, but after this-”

 

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t have to walk anywhere alone.” Eliza cuts him off. She kisses Maria on the cheek and adds, “Reynolds won’t try to go after you if you’re with other people, so me, or someone else, will walk you back from class and the AV building, and things like that.”

 

“Thank you, baby.” Maria says tenderly, leaning her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder. 

 

Eliza smiles. “It’ll all turn out fine, you’ll see.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas stands in his bathroom, hands braced on the edges of the marble counter. His pills seem to taunt him; he  _ should _ take them, but something stops him. The thought of swallowing them down makes him sick. 

 

For the first time in months, Thomas was grateful for Alexander’s absence. It’s a strange feeling that’s only served to confuse Thomas even more. 

 

He moves to splash water on his face but accidentally knocks over his pills; they splash into the toilet. He freezes and watches with a sick sort of fascination as they dissolve.  _ You should tell James _ , common sense whispers.  _ No _ , his mind says in return,  _ it doesn’t matter. It - and you -  means nothing _ .

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Wanna watch a movie or something?” Alex asks casually, glancing over at Thomas. 

 

“No.” Thomas replies curtly, keeping his gaze focussed on his book. 

 

In the day since his return from the apartment, Thomas has been distant and cold with Alex. Alex finds it disturbing how quickly he can become so unfriendly and hostile; what had he done at the apartment that made Thomas so angry? He puzzles over it as he texts Eliza.

 

 **Me:** _hows maria_

**eliiiiiiza:** _ She’s good and she thanks you for asking!! _

**eliiiiiiza:** _ What’s up with you? _

**Me:** _ i hate to make this all about me but _

**Me:** _ thomas has been acting all  _

**Me:** _ surly _

**Me:** _ and aloof _

**eliiiiiiza:** _ Maybe you just need to give him space. He doesn’t sound too good after you forced yourself into his home. _

**Me:** _ who told u about that liza :(((( _

**eliiiiiiza:** _ Angie :))))) _

**Me:** _ eliza u precious bby i think you are the only person who still uses :)))) with honest intentions _

**eliiiiiiza:** _ I know what it means, Alex _

**eliiiiiiza:** **_[Image Attached]_ **

 

Eliza sends him a photo of Maria kissing her on the cheek, both smiling happily.

 

**Me:** _ dont try to make me jealous of ur adorable relationship!!!!!! _

**eliiiiiiza:** _ Our adorable relationship that wouldn’t be happening without you!! _

**Me:** _ :(((((((((((((((( _

 

Eliza doesn’t reply to that. Maybe she was right, maybe he does need to give Thomas space. He feels guilty for being so intrusive at Thomas’s apartment. He wants to apologize, but Thomas’s cold expression, though not directed at Alex, is severely intimidating.

 

Alex wants to call Eliza and complain some more about this peculiar treatment from Thomas, but he’d feel guilty for bothering her so much. It’s just such a diametric change from his previous demeanor; Alex had learned, as he lived with Thomas, that he wasn’t as arrogant and proud as he acted in public. It’s shocking to find him slip so quickly back into his old shell, and Alex can’t help but wonder what he’s done to cause this.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Thomas knows he’s been acting out, but he didn’t think Alexander would do  _ this _ . 

 

For the past three nights, he’s been sleeping alone. It’s cold, not to mention lonely, and he’s nearly overtaken by the urge to stay in bed each and every day. Getting ready every morning is a Herculean task; his unmade bed taunts him as he grabs his books. The dark, desolate mass hangs heavily on his shoulders, weighing him down as he goes about his day. Between nearly every class, he begins to tap out a text to James to tell him how he’s been feeling, but he deletes it before he makes the foolish decision to send it.

 

He openly  insults Alexander during Washington’s class, and Alexander freezes for a full ten seconds before resuming his argument, tripping over his words unassuredly. Washington regards both Thomas and his son oddly for a few moments before turning his full attention to Alexander’s refutation. It sets Thomas on end to have his teacher suspicious on him, but he keeps his composure, countering Alexander’s flimsy argument with seamless confidence as the class expects him to.

 

<><><><><><>

 

**To: Me, Laurens, (Unknown Number), Angelica, (Unknown Number), Eliza, (Unknown Number), Alexander, Jemmy**

**Lafayette:** _ we should all do something again soon!!! _

**Eliza:** _ Yes!! _

**(Unknown Number):** _ ye and angie can bring abt her gf _

**Lafayette:** _ of course!!! _

 

Thomas tries to deduce which unknown number is who, but it’s impossible to tell, at this point.

 

**Laurens:** _ yea yea what should we do _

 

James texts him on a private chat.

 

**Jemmy:** _ you are going to the group thing you need to get out of the house  _

**Me:** _ Okay dad _

**Jemmy:** _ … _

**Jemmy:** _ don’t talk to your father that way _

**Jemmy:** _ someone needs to kinkshame us _

**Me:** _ What if kinkshaming IS my kink? _

**Jemmy:** _ #KinkshameThomas2k16 _

 

Thomas sighs. He doesn’t  _ want _ to go to this group outing, especially if there’s a stranger in the equation, but he knows James won’t let it go.

 

**Me:** _ Fine, I’ll go. _

**Jemmy:** _ i’m proud of you son _

**Me:** _ Ugh _

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex returns to his room at well past midnight. He opens the door, expecting complete silence, but he hears a quiet sniffling.  _ Thomas _ . 

 

_ He needs space _ , the rational part of Alex’s mind reminds him.  _ THOMAS _ , the rest screams. Quickly and silently he pulls on his pajamas and kneels by Thomas’s bed. “Thomas,” he whispers, “are you okay?”

 

Thomas takes in a shuddering breath. “Can you just- can you stay tonight?” He asks shakily. 

 

“Of course.” Alex murmurs, letting Thomas envelop him in his arms. Thomas is still crying, but Alex isn’t about to ask why. He can’t risk breaking this truce they seem to be under; he wouldn’t be surprised, if, in the morning, Thomas settles back into his harsh, abrasive behaviour. The very thought of that makes Alex feel a wave of dread.

 

He closes his eyes and lets himself be cradled by the man he’s longed for for so long, pretending the bitterness between them is anything else, anything  _ better _ .

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex wakes up alone. He thinks he can smell the faint scent of Thomas in the sheets, and with it comes a pang of sorrow.

 

He sighs. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

_ It doesn’t matter _ , Alex tells himself.

 

Though, if it’s so inconsequential, why is he sitting alone on a barstool, nursing a whiskey and bemoaning ever meeting Thomas Jefferson?

 

Thomas texted him at six o’clock in the evening.  _ I’m staying with James tonight _ . Thomas and James aren’t dating, Alex knows that. Except, Alex is a jealous asshole and the thought of Thomas staying with anyone else, even for one night, makes him  _ furious _ . 

 

He’s lost count of how many drinks he’s had when a stranger approaches him. She’s tall and beautiful, adorned in a little black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. “You look lonely.” She observes. Her honeyed voice draws Alex’s attention; he wonders what her intentions are.

 

“I am.” He replies. He looks to the bartender, but before he can speak again, she says, “What’s someone like you doing here?”

 

Alex scrutinizes her. “You’re not drunk.” 

 

She laughs, a soft, tinkling sound that calms Alex’s toiling thoughts. “I’ve got plans tomorrow,” she says, “and I don’t need a hangover. I’m Kitty.”

 

“Why are you at a bar,” he asks, “if you’re not drinking?”

 

Kitty laughs again. “I’m also the designated driver. My friends have all found someone to dance with, but everyone here is too drunk for me.”

 

“Why are you with me, then?” Alex demands, frowning.

 

“You looked interesting.”

 

“I’m not interesting, I’m sad.” He mutters, pouting.

 

“What happened?”

 

He pauses suspiciously. “I think you don’t want to ask that question. I talk a lot.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”

 

“Okay,” he says hesitantly, “what happened. What happened is I’m an awful person and I can’t sleep alone. And. And I’m in love with my room mate but he hates me. He sleeps with me every night but like not in that way, just in a… sleeping way. Because he’s sad like, all the time, and I don’t sleep. And I don’t know what I did wrong but he doesn’t like me anymore and for the first time in like,  _ forever _ , I stayed with him ‘cause he was crying, but I woke up and he was gone an’ I didn’t see him all day and then he told me he was staying with his best friend tonight instead of me and we were like, really good friends up until we went to central park and he almost kissed me but then. But then I asked him about it and he said it was nothing and then now he’s mad at me. And now I’m sayin’ all this to a stranger in a god damn bar because my friends are god damn tired of hearing me talk about him. I just love him so much, Kitty.” Alex barely realizes he’s said it.  _ And I’m in love with my room mate but he hates me. I just love him so much _ . It’s a disturbing realization. “Shit.” He says, staring at Kitty intensely. 

 

“You do talk a lot.” She says after a pause. “It sounds like he likes you, though.” 

 

Alex shakes his head. “He doesn’t. He told me I don’t know a fucking thing. He called me Hamilton which he hasn’t done since my mom died. He doesn’t like me at all.”

 

Kitty sighs. “You talk so much, it shouldn’t be hard to just  _ tell  _ him how you feel.”

 

“Nah, man.” Alex retorts. “I got a shit ton of anxiety. I can talk for hours but emotions make me nervous and he makes me nervous.”

 

Kitty rolls her eyes. “It’s never that simple, is it?” There’s a shout from across the bar. “Well, I’ve got to go, but I’m rooting for you and your guy. Give me your phone.” He unlocks it for her and she puts her number in his contacts, under simply the smiling cat emoji. “We’ll see if you remember this tomorrow.” She kisses him on the cheek and parades away, leaving Alex thoroughly confused. 

 

“Kitty,” he murmurs under his breath, “that’s not a real name, is it? What’s it a nickname for? Did she give me a fake name?” 

 

The bartender sighs at him. “Go home, man. I heard your whole sob story. Get some sleep. Calm down.”

 

Alex narrows his eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do. I don’t even know you.”

 

“You didn’t know that gal but you confessed your whole life story to her. Call a taxi, talk to that guy. I don’t fucking know, just get outta here. You can’t walk, dude.”

 

Alex huffs. “I can walk.” He stands up and nearly falls over, but manages to stay put. “See?”

 

“Scram.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Fuck.” Alex mutters as he opens his eyes. The lights seems to be burning holes in his skull. The night before is a blur; he remembers meeting a girl and her giving him her number. He opens his contacts and sure enough, there’s someone new, saved simply under an emoji, He considers texting her, but his phone’s display, even on the dimmest setting, is only exacerbating his headache. 

 

Someone knocks on the door. He groans at the sudden noise and burrows under his blankets, unwilling to get up. “Alexander Hamilton,” someone shouts, “you are going to be  _ late _ . Get up.”

 

Alex gets up groggily and opens the door to find Lafayette staring back at him unimpressed. “Stop  being sad and pathetic, Alexander. Take a shower and brush your teeth, for the sake of mankind.”

 

“I’m not sad and pathetic.” Alex hisses sadly and pathetically. 

 

“You smell like cheap beer and you are wearing my sweater, mon ami, do not fight it.” Laf says solemnly.

 

“I’m wearing  _ what _ ?” With one look at himself, he realizes it’s true. “I don’t remember this.”

 

“Go shower, I’ll tell everyone you’re going to be late.”

 

“You’re a saint, Gilbert.”

 

“Do not call me that.”

 

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

 

“Only John and Hercules call me Gilbert, and most of the time it is when we are-”

 

“Okay, okay, never mind. Go away.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Finally, Alex joins the land of the living.” John greets him. Everyone is crowded into a much too small booth at the Life Cafe. There’s a chorus of  _ hello _ s before Alex settles himself on the edge of the booth beside Eliza.

 

“This is Martha.” Angelica introduces the woman beside her.

 

“So this is the mysterious girlfriend?” Alex says, grinning. “Hi.”

 

“Hi.” She waves a delicate hand. 

 

“We are still waiting on Thomas,” Lafayette says, “but I think his absence can be forgiven. James came down with something.”

 

“When is that man not sick?” Peggy sighs, shaking her head fondly.  _ Fondly _ . It occurs to Alex that James and Thomas are apart of their group now. He’s not sure if he likes it.

 

“There he is!” Eliza says, gesturing toward the door. Thomas approaches their table, face smug and imperious as ever, and  _ freezes _ .

 

It’s quite literal. He stops mid step and his eyes widen with shock before he spins around and heads back to the door. Alex leaps up and grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “What the fuck?”

 

Thomas’s eyes are huge; he makes no effort to hide his panic. “Can we talk outside?”

 

Reluctantly, Alex agrees. When they’re outside, Thomas says in a rush, “That’s Martha.”

 

Alex nods slowly. “That  _ is _ Martha. What about her?”

 

Thomas shakes his head. “No, you- that’s Martha Wayles, my high school best friend.”

 

Alex frowns. “What’s so bad about that?”

 

“I  _ said  _ we lost contact,” Thomas explains, “but something… something bad happened at school, and I was an awful asshole to her. She stopped talking to me, and I haven’t seen her since we graduated.”

 

Alex lets out a long breath. “Oh. Well, what happened? It can’t have been  _ that _ bad.”

 

Thomas screws his eyes shut. He seems to make a split second decision, then says quickly, “My boyfriend broke up with me and outed me to our entire school. She wanted to help me but I lashed out and said some shitty things. We graduated before I could apologize.”

 

Alex bites his lip. “That’s. Well. That’s a lot, but you’re gonna go back in there, okay? You are going to pretend nothing is wrong, even though I’m sorry to say it but she’s probably going to corner you later if she’s anything like Angelica.”

 

Thomas sighs. “I shouldn’t listen to you.”

 

“You probably shouldn’t.”

 

“But I’m going to anyway.” 

 

“You are.” Alex locks eyes with Thomas. “You’re gonna be fine, Thomas. It’ll all turn out alright.”

 

“It’ll all turn out alright.” Thomas echoes, looking in through the glass door. Alex forgets, as he stares into Thomas’s dark eyes, why he ever disliked the man, even if it was only for a few days.  _ I love him _ . 

 

Thomas looks back at him, and Alex is torn from his reverie. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is the beginning of the climax >:)))))))) 
> 
> thanks for reading and leave a comment!!


	17. seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont hate me pls
> 
> (also: 4000+ hits!!! 300 kudos!!! i love you all thank you!!!)

**miss maria:** _hey alex can you come walk me back from the av building if its no trouble?_

 **Me:** _ofc ill be there in 5_

 

It’s nearing midnight, but Alex doesn’t mind. He’s going to be awake for a while yet anyway, and it’s better to come to him than to wake anyone else up.

 

It’s black as pitch as the two walk toward Maria and Peggy’s room. Every few seconds, Maria glances warily at their tenebrous surroundings. He swallows the urge to assure her that everything’s fine; it won’t help her.

 

“Thank you.” She says sincerely as she opens the door to her room.

 

“Any time.” He assures her with an encouraging smile. “Now get some sleep.”

 

She scoffs. “Says the pot to the kettle.”

 

“Goodnight, Maria.”

 

“Night, Alex.”

 

He expects the short walk back to his room to be uneventful; their rooms are only two floors apart. Alex is humming _Seasons of Love_ softly under his breath when suddenly he feels a cold hand on his shoulder. He scrambles away, trying (and failing) to discern the indistinct figure before him.

 

“Alexander.” A quiet, grating voice greets him.

 

“ _Reynolds_.” Alex hisses, stepping back. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

He laughs. “I can’t believe she forgave you. You cheated on your girlfriend with a girl who’s more of a slut than you are. You ruin every relationship you-”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Reynolds.” Alex interrupts. “Why are you doing this? It’s been three years, just let it go.”

 

“Alexander Hamilton? Telling me to _let it go_? You-”

 

“Alexander, leave it.” Another voice cuts off Reynolds. Alex recognizes Thomas’s voice, a relief compared to Reynolds’s jarring, gravelly words.

 

“Thomas, I’m-”

 

“You need your little lapdog to come rescue you, huh?” Reynolds jeers. At their shocked silence, he adds, “Don’t act so surprised, everyone knows about what you two have... _going on_.” His words are tinged with disgust. Alex moves to take a swing at him, but Thomas grabs his shoulder.

 

“Alexander, let’s _go_.” He hisses. “It’s not worth it.”

 

“Do you know what this asshole did to Maria?” Alex cries, struggling in Thomas’s grip.

 

“I’m not the one who _cheated_.”

 

“Yeah, you’re the one who _abused her, you fucking douchecanoe, I can’t-_ ”

 

“Alexander, we’re leaving.” Thomas pulls him by the arms back to their room, leaving James Reynolds laughing in the twilight.

 

In their room, Alex turns on Thomas. “What the _fuck_ ,” he spits furiously, “was that for? I could’ve handled him, and he’d have deserved every fucking second of it. You didn’t have to-”

 

“I don’t want you getting yourself in the _hospital_ , Alexander.” Thomas snaps. “Go the fuck to sleep. That guy’s a dick, but he’s not worth your pain.”

 

“I’m not sleeping _now_ , asshole.” He retorts.

 

“Why can’t you have a normal goddamn sleeping schedule?” Thomas mutters, pacing.

 

“Hey,” Alex says, an idea forming, “Peggy gave me a gift card for this coffee shop for my birthday.”

 

“What about it?” Thomas grumbles, raising an eyebrow.

 

“It’s open until, like, 3 a.m., I think.” He explains, rifling through his mess of belongings. He pulls out the card and grins, holding it up.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“You know what,” Thomas says as they arrive, “this was a terrible idea. I should not be letting you have coffee at this hour. You have to _sleep_ , Alexander.”

 

Alex rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t gonna sleep anyway, coffee will just help me stay up longer.”

 

“That attitude is extremely detrimental to your health. How are you still alive?” Thomas sighs.

 

“I live off pure anger.” Alex informs him. “And I am perfectly healthy, thank you very much.”

 

A waitress cuts into their conversation. “Anyone ordering black coffee at midnight isn’t healthy, buddy.”

 

He sizes her up suspiciously. “How did you know I was gonna order black coffee?”

 

She gesticulates vaguely. “You just have that look about you. It’s easy to tell after working here for a few months, let me tell you.” She pauses and squints at him. “Hey, “ she adds, “you’re that sad talky guy from the bar.”

 

Alex frowns. “What?” He looks her over once more, and- how had he not recognized her before? “Hey, Kitty! I’m Alexander Hamilton, this is my- uh, this is my friend Thomas.” He doesn’t recall any details of what exactly he talked to Kitty about, but he’s at least seventy five per cent sure it was Thomas.

 

Sure enough, Kitty waggles her eyebrows. “You never texted me, you ass.” But she’s grinning. “What can I get for you, _Thomas_?” She smirks at Alex. He sticks his tongue out, surely confusing Thomas.

 

“I’ll have a latte, please.” He says, smiling at her politely.

 

“Black coffee and a latte, coming right up.” She saunters back to the counter.

  
“You got her number?” Thomas asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

Alex shakes his head. “Well, I mean, yeah, but it’s not like that.”

 

“Isn’t it? She seems pretty interested.” He cocks his head curiously.

 

“She’s pretty, I guess, but not my type.” 

 

Thomas laughs. “I’d have thought everyone was your type, Alexander.”

 

Alex frowns. “What makes you say that?”

 

Thomas makes an equivocal gesture with his right hand. “The whole non-stop air you’ve got going on, you know?”

 

The corners of his lips turn up in a half-smile. “In case you'd forgotten, I'm pretty damn gay.”

 

 

Thomas's face reddens. How had he forgotten? "Right, of course. Still, you flirt with everything that moves."

 

“You're not wrong.” Alex hadn’t realized how much he missed their friendship. He wonders what changed; since they met Martha at the Life Cafe, he’s been much friendlier. Speaking of… “Hey, how’d it go with Martha?” Thomas had told Alex that he and Martha agreed to meet up for drinks and talk everything out.

 

Thomas grins. “Great.” He answers happily. “It went great. It’s good to have that girl back. I missed her.”

 

Before Alex can reply, Kitty returns with their drinks. “Enjoy, gentlemen.”

 

“Thanks, Kitty.”

 

For a few minutes, they drink in silence. Alex feels the familiar buzz of caffeine in his veins, waking him up. “You shoulda let me fight Reynolds.” He mutters, setting his coffee down.

 

Thomas snorts. “No, Alexander. That would have been stupid as shit.” He pauses and hesitantly adds, “You know how scared I was? I got back and you were gone, your laptop was still open, and you weren’t answering your phone. What if I’d found you in a pool of blood?”

 

“You underestimate me.” Alex retaliates, choosing to ignore Thomas’s rare display of affection. If he responds to it, he may accidentally end his sentence with _I love you_ , and _that_ would be catastrophic. “I could beat James Reynolds any day.”

 

Thomas looks unconvinced. “Sure you could. You’re about four feet tall, Alexander, you couldn’t beat a fly.”

 

“I am five seven.” Alex apprises him bitterly. “I’m not that short, Thomas. It’s not my fault you’re huge. How tall are you, anyway?”

 

Thomas grins playfully. “Giant.”

 

“You ass. How tall. Are you.”

 

Thomas sips his latte, maintaining silent eye contact with Alex. They stare each other down for a full minute more before Alex bursts out, “Come _on_ , just _tell me_!”

 

“Fine,” Thomas acquiesces.

 

“Really?”

 

“Only once you admit you’re short.”

 

“You fucker, I will literally stab you in your sleep.” Alex grouses, flipping Thomas off.

 

“Even asleep, I could fight you off.” Thomas replies confidently. “You’re that tiny.”

 

“You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met in my entire life,” Alex announces, “and I have met many, many assholes.”

 

“Tell me about ‘em.” Thomas demands.

 

“Okay, so, first of all, there’s my dad. He left when I was ten and I haven’t heard from him since. Then there’s my cousin. He was like, a huge dick, and then he went and offed himself, which left me on the streets for a while, and that was pretty shitty. Can’t forget my brother, that guy was awful, I never saw him after we got separated the day after my cousin croaked. And Charles Lee. Hate that dude.” Alex says, counting them off on his fingers. “Samuel Seabury and John Jay. I mean, Jay isn’t all that bad, he’s just lazy. Anyway.” He pauses, squints, and finishes with, “Yep, those are the worst assholes I’ve ever met. Except for you, of course.”

 

Thomas is speechless for a moment. “That’s a lot of douchebags.” He finally mutters.

 

Alex shakes his head. “No, those are the _assholes_. Douchebags is a whole different class. You’ve got James Reynolds, of course, and George King, and-”

 

“I get it, I get it.” Thomas cuts him off. “You want to fight a lot of people. And I thought Reynolds was a douche _canoe_ , not a douche _bag_.”

 

“He’s both.” Alex sniffs.

 

“Wow, he must be _awful_.”

 

“He really is.”

 

They fall silent, neither willing to make eye contact with the other. Finally, Alex admits, “Thanks for pulling me out back there. Punching Reynolds wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere.”

 

Thomas whistles. “Do I need this on video?”

 

Alex feels heat rise in his cheeks. “Shut up, Tommy.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex grabs his phone when he hears it chime three times in quick succession. Thomas groans, shifting to account for Alex’s movement. Alex, for a split second, is startled by the domesticity of their situation. Then, he checks his phone.

 

 **(Unknown Number):** _i’ve got maria just where i want her._

 **(Unknown Number):** _i’m in the alley outside of yorktown_

 **(Unknown Number):** _if you want her back, come get her_

 

Panicked, Alex texts Maria.

 

 **Me:** _maria are u ok reynolds jsut texted me_

 **Me:** _mariaaaaaaa answer me im freakng out_

 **Me:** _maria_

 

He waits for about five minutes before getting up. “I have to leave.” He mutters to Thomas, climbing out of bed.

 

“Alexander-”

 

“I have to leave.” He says again. If he explains the situation, Thomas will talk him out of it, and he _needs_ to do this.

 

“Come back to bed.” Thomas whispers. “It’s still dark outside, where are you going?”

 

“I’ll be be back before you know I’m gone.” Alex assures him. No matter what anyone says, he _can_ take down Reynolds.

 

“Come back to sleep, Alexander.”

 

“Thomas, I’ll be fine.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Where is she?” Alex demands. He sees a dark silhouette skulking in the back of the alleyway. “Come out here, Reynolds, or are you a coward?”

 

The man steps into the yellow light of the nearby streetlamp, and he’s most definitely not James Reynolds. Before Alex has a chance to register what the man is doing, the hulking figure strikes him down. In the few split seconds before it all goes black, it occurs to Alex that he lift his phone back at the room.

 

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment!! tell me what you thought!!
> 
> EDIT: someone pointed out that i had alex as gay in an earlier chapter but called him bisexual here, so that's fixed right up, thank you for informing me!


	18. eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to the last chapter was astounding. thank u all so much.
> 
> also as my dear friend scully_carter pointed out the "how tall are you?" "giant." comes from  
> [ tHAT TIME DAVEED REPLIED TO ME ON TWITTER](https://twitter.com/herc_mulligann/status/758349514340179968%0A), which i somehow forgot to mention in the notes last chapter.
> 
> also, IMPORTANT: please go to the end notes if you have any major triggers.

It’s been twenty minutes since Alexander left, and Thomas is starting to panic. He hears a phone go off, but it’s not his ringtone, which can only mean one thing.

 

He grabs Alexander’s phone and reads the messages: 

 

 **miss maria:** _i’m fine alex_

**miss maria:** _ james texted you? _

 

_ James _ . Reynolds contacted Alexander, which can only mean one thing. 

 

**Me:** _ This is Thomas. Alexander disappeared about twenty minutes ago. Do you know his password so I can see what Reynolds said? _

**miss maria:** _ ohh my god this is bad _

**miss maria:** _ liza says his password is 1757 _

 

Thomas tries the numbers and grins with satisfaction when it works. His grin falters when he sees the messages. 

 

**Me:** _ Reynolds told Alexander that he had you, and told him to go to the alley by Yorktown. I’m going to get him. _

**miss maria:** _ be careful. james is dangerous. _

**Me:** _ I will. _

 

Thomas, once he’s clear of the winding hallways, sprints to his car. The drive to Yorktown is short and terrifying; what if he arrives and Alexander’s knocked out in a pool of blood, or worse? 

 

Thomas can’t think about  _ worse _ .

 

He parks and slams his door shut, anxiously tapping his fingers. It’s nearly silent, which is unusual for this dive bar. It sets Thomas on edge.

 

He feels a shock of dread when he sees a pool of red liquid in the light of the street lamp. He steps around it and turns on his phone flashlight, biting back a gasp of horror when he sees  _ him _ . 

 

Alexander is out cold. His arm is twisted at an unnatural angle and there still seems to be a trickle of blood coming from some wound on his head. His shirt is stuck to him, which can only mean that he has more injuries beneath his clothes. Without an ounce of hesitation, Thomas pockets his phone and picks his friend up, careful not to jostle his most likely broken arm. Alexander whimpers pitifully in his unconscious state. 

 

Thomas carefully positions Alexander in the back seat and calls Maria. He puts her on speakerphone as he drives, much slower than he wants to so as not to jolt Alexander.

 

“Is he okay?” It’s Eliza speaking. 

 

“Did you find him?” Maria pipes up, her voice weak and hoarse.

 

Thomas sighs. “He’s- he’s not doing too well. I think his arm’s broken and I found him in a pool of blood. He’s still breathing. I’m on my way to the hospital, if you guys want to meet me there.” Distantly, his words sound calm and collected, which comes as a great surprise to him. Internally, anxiety is threatening to overcome him.  _ Please just let Alexander be okay _ . 

 

“Okay, we’re on our way.” Eliza says. “Text us if anything happens before we get there, okay?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She hangs up, and Thomas is met with silence, punctuated by the sound of Alexander’s laboured breathing. He swallows another stab of panic and speeds up a little.

 

The parking lot of the hospital is dark and gloomy. The artificial streetlamps illuminate Alexander’s face eerily, casting an otherworldly yellow glow on his gaunt, pale face. Thomas sees his tears falling before he feels them, but he can’t find the energy to care.

 

In the hospital, it’s a blur. They take Alexander from him and put him on a bed, carefully cutting his shirt away and inspecting his arm. They usher Thomas into the waiting room.

 

He’s still crying when Alexander’s immobile form finally disappears into the hallways, flocked by nurses and doctors alike. There’s only one other person in the grim waiting room, a young woman fiddling with her purse nervously. She smiles sympathetically at him, looking close to tears herself. Thomas bits his lip and smiles back, before glancing at the doors. Eliza and Maria arrive arm in arm, striding toward Thomas quickly.

 

“How is he?” Eliza asks, sitting beside Thomas. 

 

“I don’t know.” He admits, wiping his tears away. “I don’t know.”

 

Eliza sighs. “I don’t know why he gets himself into situations like this.”

 

“He’s not very smart.” Thomas agrees. “I  _ told  _ him to come back to sleep. I told him, but he didn’t listen and I didn’t try to stop him.”

 

Eliza shakes her head. “No, this is  _ not  _ your fault.” She smiles sadly, eyes glistening. “Do you think you could have stopped him if he’d really set his mind to it?”

 

Thomas laughs quietly. “You’re right.”

 

Suddenly, the doors fly open. Lafayette, Laurens, and Mulligan parade inside, eyes focussing immediately on Thomas. He feels vulnerable beneath their hawk-like gazes, and the feeling only intensifies when they settle themselves down directly on Thomas’s left side.

 

“Maria told us what happened.” Laurens announces, staring at Thomas.

 

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Lafayette demands, leaning over Laurens. 

 

“I think his arm is broken,” Thomas answers, “and something’s wrong with his head. He’s either scratched up on his chest, too, or maybe his ribs are broken, I couldn’t tell.”

 

“Thank you,” Mulligan says earnestly, “for finding him.”

 

“If he’d been there for much longer…” Laurens trails off, shivering. Lafayette puts an arm around him comfortingly, whispering reassurances in his ear. 

 

Thomas feels very alone, suddenly. Usually, when he’s with these people he has Alexander, or even Angelica. Now, though, Alexander is lying limp in a hospital bed. Thomas doesn’t know what to do. He can feel another wave of tears coming on, but he can’t cry, not right now. He buries his face in his hands, hoping no one will notice his quiet weeping.

 

He recalls the night Alexander came home late and heard him crying. He didn’t ask what was wrong, or pry at all, which was odd, but nice at the same time. They fell asleep together, and Thomas felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

 

He left, though, before Alexander woke up.

 

He wonders why Alexander went out drinking that night. Had Thomas himself caused it? He shudders at the thought. Alexander  _ had _ been distancing himself from Thomas for a while before the incident.  _ Fuck _ .

 

He’s not sure how long they wait in almost complete silence, save for the occasional teary sniffle. Finally, a nurse approaches them. “He’s stable,” she informs them, “but still unconscious. You can go see him, if you want, but only two at a time, please.”

 

Laurens and Lafayette stand up immediately. They glance at Thomas, as if asking for permission, to his utter surprise. He nods and watches as the nurse leads the two men away.

 

It’s going to be a long, long night.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Washington’s class has been cancelled. Washington himself arrived at the hospital not ten minutes after Laurens and Lafayette. He’d let the others, including Thomas, see Alexander before taking up a sentry position at his son’s side.

 

The whole school knows about what happened. Thomas’s bets for the culprit are on James Reynolds. He’s been asked twice today about what happened, and he imagines it to be a hundred times worse for Lafayette, Laurens, and the rest. No one seems to know, outside of their own group, of course, that it was Thomas who found him. Thomas likes it that way.

 

Suddenly, his phone chimes.

 

It’s a text from Washington, a number he’s only supposed to use for schoolwork or emergencies. 

 

**Washington:** _ Alex is awake. He’s asking for all his friends but he wants you here first. _

 

It takes a few minutes for it to fully set in. Alexander is… asking for Thomas? First? Before his best friends, Laurens and Lafayette? Before Mulligan, Eliza, and Maria? 

 

**Me:** _ I’ll be there soon. Thank you for telling me. _

 

He gets in his car and prays to whoever is listening that traffic won’t be too bad. Every time he hits a red light, he looks back at his phone, wondering if Washington’s message will disappear. Alexander wants to see him  _ first _ . He grins stupidly at the thought.

 

The hospital is much busier during the daytime. There’s screaming children and frustrated parents, as well as some kids sitting alone. He begins to wonder why a child would be at the hospital without their family, but he’s distracted by the nurse leading him through the infinite white corridors. 

 

After what feels like a lifetime, they enter one of the identical rooms. 

 

Alexander is pale. He’s wearing a thin, papery hospital gown that manages accentuates the frailty of his broken body. Thomas wants to cry at the sight of him, but he  _ can’t _ . 

 

Washington, as well as the nurse, leave silently.

 

“Hi.” Alexander whispers, eyes barely open. 

 

“You fucking dumbass.” Thomas mutters. “What if I hadn’t found you? What if you  _ died _ ?”

 

“Okay,” Alexander grouses, “so we’re doing this.”

 

“Listen to me, Alexander.” Thomas says urgently. “You can’t just  _ do  _ things like that. Do you know how worried we all were?”  _ Do you know how worried  _ I _ was? _

 

“I don’t need another lecture, Thomas.” Alexander snaps, sitting up. He winces slightly, biting down on his bottom lip.

 

“You shouldn’t-”

 

“My ribs aren’t broken or anything, just bruised.” He explains. “My arm is another story.” He points to the cast with his good hand, grinning. His eyes are still drooping with exhaustion.

 

Thomas lets out a gusty sigh. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

 

Alexander rolls his eyes. “Stop that. I don’t want to fight with you. I  _ like _ you.” He grins lazily, leaning forward minutely.

 

Thomas’s mouth dries up. Is Alexander- does he  _ like _ Thomas? Alexander stares at him expectantly, still grinning widely.  _ Fuck it _ , Thomas thinks. He steps forward slowly, giving Alexander a chance to back out, but he stays, unmoving.

 

Alexander’s lips are warm and soft, softer than Thomas expected. Something else Thomas didn’t expect is Alexander kissing  _ back _ . It’s a thousand times better than he ever imagined. 

 

Abruptly, Alexander pulls back. Thomas steps back and collapses in his chair, confused. Alexander kissed him  _ back _ , had he changed his mind? What if he’s decided, after one kiss, that he doesn’t-

 

“I don’t- why would you do that?” He demands, looking close to tears. 

 

“...What?” Thomas whispers. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, hoping to wake himself up from some sick, demented nightmare.

 

Alexander narrows his eyes. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Jefferson. Get the fuck out of here.” He spits viciously. The bruises lining his face only serve to underscore the anger in his expression. He points to the door with his unbroken arm, bottom lip quivering. 

 

Numbly, Thomas does as Alexander commanded. The scene runs on a loop in his mind, rendering him virtually unaware of his surroundings. What had he done wrong? He’d always known Alexander would probably reject him, but not once had he anticipated it to be so  _ violent _ . 

 

The tears never come. Not when he gets in his car, not when he arrives at his apartment. Not when he opens the bathroom cabinet, not when he finds the razor. Not when he watches the blood seep out. Not once does he shed a tear, but before he shuts his eyes, he  _ smiles _ .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for: implied attempted suicide
> 
> im so sorry!!!! please feel free to yell at me!!!! im so sorry!!!


	19. nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally!!!!!!!!! it happens!!!!!!!!

**Me:** _ yooo thomas how long are you gonna be at the hospital _

**Me:** _ seabury is bugging me asking where you and the rest of the hamilsquad are _

 

James frowns. It’s been thirty minutes since Thomas left, he should be answering his phone at the very least.

 

**Me:** _ thomas? _

 

He waits for another five minutes, pacing anxiously, before giving up and calling his friend. When there’s no answer, he hurries to his car.

 

Thomas hasn’t been taking his meds lately, if his behaviour is anything to go by.

 

James hopes, more than anything, he’s safe.

 

Angelica, Peggy, Maria, Lafayette and John are all sitting idly in the shitty chairs of the hospital waiting room. James approaches them cautiously.

 

“Hey, James.” Angelica greets him curiously.

 

“Have you seen Thomas?” He asks immediately. “Something’s up with him.”

 

John frowns. “He was visiting Alex, but he left. He didn’t say anything when we tried to ask him what happened. Whatever happened, he’s not here anymore.”

 

_ Shit _ . “Well, uh, thanks. I hope Alex gets better soon.” He replies quickly, already turning back to the exit. 

 

“Tell us what happened with Thomas.” Angelica calls after him.

 

“I will!”

 

James speeds on the drive to Thomas’s apartment, but it’s a worthy cause. 

 

The door is unlocked, a disquieting thing. James hesitantly enters the apartment. “Thomas?” He’s met with ghostly silence. He pushes down the fear quickly rising in his throat and calls once again, “Thomas?” Just as he anticipated, no one answers.

 

He swallows any remaining ounce of dread and finds the bathroom.

 

The lights are on and the door is ajar, which is never a good sign. Anxiously, James pushes open the door. The sight before him is reminiscent of a horror movie: Thomas, lying limp and sallow on the tiled floor of the bathroom. The plash of blood surrounding his motionless body is still growing; maybe there’s time. James lets out a strangled sob.

 

He’s never seen his best friend so  _ pale _ . 

 

Robotically, as if locked in a dream, James dials nine one one. 

 

He crouches in the thick, sticky red liquid, wanting more than anything in the world for Thomas to open his eyes. 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex blinks, wincing at the bright light. It makes his head pound, worse than a hangover, somehow. He groans.

 

“Alex?” Someone- his dad, he realizes- says frantically. He drifts into a state that’s not quite asleep but not quite awake, either. 

 

“Alex, son?” His dad whispers. There’s more voices now- nurses, most likely. 

 

“Dad?” He wants to ask some more questions, but his words die in his parched throat. Someone hands him a paper cup of water and he takes it gratefully.

 

As he sips his water, it occurs to him that his right arm feels stiff. When he looks over, he sees it’s in a cast. “How did that happen?” He rasps, setting the cup down. “How did I get here?”

 

His father frowns. “Do you not remember what happened?”

 

It’s hard to think, let alone  _ remember _ when his head is aching so badly, but he tries. He remembers Thomas telling him to go to sleep, and texts from Reynolds. Then… going to an alleyway, meeting a man who was not Reynolds, and then… it all goes dark. He explains this to his father, whose frown grows the more Alex talks. 

 

“You can’t keep doing things like this, Alexander.” He says seriously, crossing his arms. “I’ve just lost Martha, I can’t lose you, too.”

 

“Don’t lecture me, I’m not a child.” He retorts, suddenly angry. How  _ dare _ he bring Martha into this? Alex lost her, too, and now he’s trapped in the very hospital she died in.

 

“Well, you’re acting like one!” Washington snaps, narrowing his eyes. “If you did the same thing with every man who challenged you, you’d have been dead years ago. Don’t do this, Alexander. You have people who care, you can’t just throw your life away.”

 

“Don’t give me your pity, dad.” He hisses. “I don’t need everybody fucking pitying me.”

 

“No one pities you, son, I-”

 

“I bet they’re all here, aren’t they?” Alex growls, cutting his father off. “All of them, sitting in the waiting room, because they feel so fucking bad about what happened, something that involved  _ none _ of them. I’m  _ fine _ .”

 

“They’re worried about you, they-”

 

“You don’t need to stay with me because I’m your goddamn charity case.” His head throbs, growing more painful with every word.

 

“You’re not my charity case, Alexander.” His father says coldly. “You’re my son. Who do you want me to send in next?”

 

Any more hostile words die in Alex’s throat at his father’s exhausted expression. “Can- can I see Thomas?” 

 

Washington nods. “He’s not here right now, though. I’ll text him.” He taps out a message on his phone and adds quietly, “He was the one that found you, you know.”

 

“What?”

 

“Thomas. He saw was Reynolds said to you and got you out of the alley. He was a mess last night, son.” His eyes are far away, as if he’s lost in the memory. Alex shivers; had Thomas really been that worried about him? Alex had left so abruptly, why wouldn’t Thomas be  _ angry _ ?

 

They fall into a tense silence. Alex can’t look at his father; he already feels intensely guilty for everything he said, but his throat feels thick and gauzy.

 

Finally, Thomas enters the room. 

 

He dwarfs the little plastic chair he sits in; it’s adorable. He looks frazzled, as if he came here in a rush. 

 

“Hi.” Alex whispers. His eyes drift nearly shut. The lights are so  _ bright _ , and no one’s said anything to him concerning his injuries just yet, but he’s sure he’s concussed.

 

“You fucking dumbass.” Thomas grumbles. “What if I hadn’t found you? What if you  _ died _ ?”

 

“Okay,” Alex says, “so we’re doing this.” In truth, Thomas’s worry for him makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. In spite of that, his sour mood from his conversation with his father still persists.

 

“Listen to me, Alexander.” Thomas says urgently. “You can’t just  _ do  _ things like that. Do you know how worried we all were?”  _ Do you know how worried  _ I _ was? _

 

“I don’t need another lecture, Thomas.” He snaps, sitting up. It hurts more than he expected, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want more of this, he already feels shitty enough.

 

Thomas doesn’t press anymore, surprisingly. “You shouldn’t-”

 

“My ribs aren’t broken or anything, just bruised.” He explains impatiently. “My arm is another story.” He points to his cast and grins. He’s beginning to feel tired again, an all-encompassing tiredness rendering him unfocussed. 

 

Thomas lets out a gusty sigh. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

 

Alex rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Stop that. I don’t want to fight with you. I  _ like _ you.” He grins lazily and leans forward as much as his sore ribs will allow him. Thomas is so  _ pretty _ , he thinks, it would be so nice to just lean in and…

 

Thomas is kissing  _ him _ . Is he dreaming? No, this can’t be real. The real Thomas doesn’t like Alex at all, he’d never do this. For a few moments, Alex allows himself to be kissed, allows himself to kiss  _ back _ , but then, reality hits him.

 

There’s only one possible reason Thomas could be doing this. “I don’t- why would you do that?” He demands, biting back tears, though he already knows the answer. He gets enough pity from everyone else, he doesn’t need  _ this _ from Thomas. 

 

“...What?” Thomas whispers. He looks dumbfounded. Did he think his dumb fucking plan would work? Did he really think that low of Alex?

 

Alex narrows his eyes. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Jefferson. Get the fuck out of here.” He spits, hoping to God that Thomas will leave before the tears come. 

 

Forlornly, Thomas stands up. He leaves as if lost in a daze, slowly and robotically. Alex stares after him, wondering if he’ll look back.

 

He doesn’t.

 

Alex lies down, staring up at the white ceiling. Everything at this hospital is white, white, white. It hurts his eyes. If it’s all so bright, how can it be so gloomy at the same time? He closes his eyes and sighs with relief; the light still makes his head twinge with pain.

 

He hears footsteps. “Hi, Alex.” Someone - Eliza - greets him. “How are you feeling?”

 

“And what happened with Thomas?” Hercules adds. 

 

“Can you just,” he whispers, “give me a few minutes?” He’s met with silence, so he assumes the two nodded. 

 

He can’t stop going over the scenario in his mind. How could Thomas  _ do _ something like that? If Thomas knows how Alex feels, and obviously he seems to, why would he go so far as to  _ kiss _ him? Alex knows he’ll never forget the sensation: warm, sweet and so very  _ Thomas _ .

 

“Thomas kissed me.” He blurts out, surprising himself. 

 

“Then why is he not  _ still _ kissing you?” Hercules demands immediately. 

 

Alex snorts. “He didn’t mean it.” He mutters. “Thomas doesn’t like me.”

 

Eliza makes a thoughtful noise. “Did he  _ say _ he doesn’t like you?”

 

“No, but-”

 

“Alex, you fucked up.” Hercules cuts him off. “We saw him leave, and he was pretty damn upset.”

 

“We asked what was wrong, but he didn’t seem to hear.” Eliza adds. “Why would he kiss you if he doesn’t like you?”

 

Alex huffs. “I don’t want his pity.” He glares at them and adds, “And I don’t want yours, either.” 

 

Before Alex can reply, Hercules’s phone  _ ding _ s. He reads it and glowers at Alex. “John just texted me.” He informs Alex, unimpressed. “James Madison just came by. He can’t find Thomas.”

 

Alex’s face whitens. “I fucked up.” He whispers.  _ Fuck _ . “What if he’s done something stupid? What if he’s hurt?” Alex sits up, almost completely unaware of the pain in his chest. 

 

“Now you know how we feel about you, Alex.” Eliza snaps, narrowing her normally kind eyes.

 

The sight of the calm, compassionate Eliza angry sends Alex over the edge. “I can’t- what have I done? If he’s hurt, it’s  _ my fault _ . I couldn’t live with myself if… if something happened to him.” He’s sobbing now, tears coming in salty torrents. “I love him, ‘Liza. I can’t- I can’t…” He falters, glancing between them anxiously. “What do I do?”

 

Hercules sighs. “We wait.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

The doctors decide Alex doesn’t need any more monitoring. He (with great difficulty) gets dressed and finds the waiting room, where all of his friends, as well as James Madison, sit stoically, staring at nothing. 

 

_ Suicide _ .

 

James had come into his room to tell him what happened. He’d been sniffling the whole time, and Alex knew it wasn’t from one of his many illnesses. 

 

He sits a few seats away from everyone else, lost in his head. 

 

The word echoes sinisterly in his head.  _ Suicide _ . 

 

He doesn’t understand how he’d been so  _ stupid _ . Why would Thomas lie to him? Why would Thomas kiss him without meaning it? 

 

_ He was so pale _ , James had said with a shiver and a woeful twist to his mouth.  _ He was so, so pale _ .

 

Eventually, his friends leave. By nightfall, he’s nearly asleep, but he  _ can’t _ sleep, not when Thomas lies half-dead in a hospital bed. James sits silently across from him. He hasn’t said a word since the others left; Alex doesn’t blame him. All of this is his fault, after all. 

 

He wonders if Thomas will even survive the ordeal. No one’s given them any news, and he doesn’t know how to take that. 

 

Alex hasn’t prayed since the death of his biological mother, but he prays now.  _ Please just let Thomas be okay _ . 

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I don’t want to fucking see Alexander Hamilton.” Thomas mutters tiredly, glaring at James.

 

James wants to say  _ no, you don’t have to, I hate him, too, for everything he’s done to you _ , but that would be wrong. Instead, he sighs, “Just hear him out, Thomas. He made a mistake.”

 

“Can- can you stay?” Thomas asks after a long pause.

 

James shakes his head. “I think you’ll want to be alone for this.”

 

Another pause.

 

“Send him in.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“Thomas…” Alex trails off. He ran over what he was going to say a hundred thousand times in his head, prepared for every possible outcome, and yet now, he’s utterly speechless.

 

“Alexander.” Thomas replies coolly, looking anywhere but where Alex sits.

 

“I’m sorry.” Thomas doesn’t respond. “There’s so much I have to tell you, Thomas. I’m so fucking sorry. I was confused and angry. I didn’t believe that you kissing me could be real, I couldn’t believe that you’d actually  _ like _ me, so I lashed out. I didn’t know what to do. I know, I  _ know _ that’s not an excuse, and I know I’ll never make it up to you for what I did. I feel so guilty, so fucking awful about it…” He takes a deep breath and continues, “I couldn’t believe you kissed because I’m in love with you, Thomas. I’ve been in love with you for so, so long, and I know you’ll never forgive me but I want you to know. You never have to see me again, if you don’t want to. I’ll move back in with my dad, I’ll switch classes, I’ll… anything. I’ll do anything you want, Thomas, just… say something, please.”

 

“I’d have said something earlier,” Thomas says irritably, “if you would shut up for one second.” Alex mimes zipping his lips shit, and Thomas rolls his eyes. “You’re a giant asshole.” He says, glaring now.

 

“That I am.” Alex agrees.

 

“You’ve just made one of the greatest fuck ups of this century.”

 

“That I have.”

 

He sighs. “But I can’t stay away from you. Before you came in here, I wanted you to die. I wanted you to  _ want _ to die. I wanted you to feel what I felt. To feel what I’m feeling.” He closes his eyes. “But now… I couldn’t live apart from you, especially not knowing you love me.” He falls silent, breathing heavily.

 

“So?” Alex presses.

 

“Alexander Hamilton,” Thomas answers, “I love you.”

 

This kiss is infinitely better than the first.

 

<><><><><><>

 

The nurse goes to check on the dark-haired boy,  _ Thomas _ , her mind supplies. She’s ecstatic that he made it. She goes feeling like she’s failed, somehow, when a suicidal kid dies before they can be saved. 

 

She pokes her head in the room to find Thomas is asleep, with another boy beside him. The two cling to each other like their lives depend on it, like they have nothing without the other.

 

The nurse is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whooooo!!!!!!!! they are Gay!!!!!!!!!!! tell me what you thought!!!!!
> 
> (also, i'm gonna be gone all weekend, i might not be able to post the next chapter on sunday. everything will probably go as scheduled, but if it's a day late, don't panic!!)


	20. twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is kinda different from the others. it's also 1500 words, about 500 words shorter than most of the other chapters. but i'm happy with it, so enjoy!!

Everyone stares at the bandages on Thomas’s wrists, so he wears longsleeves and sweaters when he’s in public. The few that are brave enough to ask him what happened are met with icy glares and hostile words, though most often, it’s Alexander spitting them. After an ordeal such as that, they go back to their room and Alexander kisses Thomas until they’ve forgotten the altercation altogether.

 

It’s nice.

 

Thomas is never alone, not anymore, and somehow, he likes it that way. Alexander is with him, or else James is, or another one of Alexander’s friends.  _ His _ friends. 

 

He’s reading with Hercules (they’re on first name basis now) in the threadbare chairs in the library. He’s reading  _ It’s Kind of a Funny Story _ by Ned Vizzini. It was a gift from Eliza, and he appreciates it more than he can put into words. It’s a story about a teenager in the psychiatric ward after nearly attempting suicide, and everyone else was antsy about him reading it; they think he’s fragile, sometimes. A month ago, he’d have lashed out. Thomas isn’t  _ fragile _ . Now, though, it’s nice to have someone care.

 

His phone chimes, shattering the careful silence. He mutes it before checking the text.

 

**Lex:** _ i miss u babe come baaack _

**Me:** _ Class ended fifteen minutes ago?? _

**Lex:** _ i still miss youu _

 

Thomas grins, typing out a reply.

 

**Me:** _ Fine. I’ll be there soon _

**Lex:** _ love youuuuuu _

**Me:** _ Love you too  _

 

“You two,” Hercules announces, “are disgustingly cute.”

 

Thomas doesn’t bother to ask exactly  _ how _ Hercules knows he’s talking to Alexander. “Of course we are. We’re the  _ cutest  _ couple.”

 

“Except for Gil, John, and I, of course.” Hercules laughs, grinning.

 

“There’s three of you, of  _ course _ you’re cuter.” Thomas says dramatically. “Don’t tell Alexander.”

 

Hercules shakes his head fondly. “Go see your boy.”

 

_ Your boy _ . Thomas doesn’t stop grinning for a long, long time.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex worries about Thomas. He’s gotten quieter, since The Incident. He’s still just as insufferably smug, but it’s okay. Alex loves him.

 

On nights when neither of them can sleep, they go to the tiny coffee shop where Kitty works. She serves them a black coffee and a latte. They kiss over the table and pretend Kitty isn’t smiling more brightly than the sun from the counter. They talk about their day and what’s keeping them up and anything that comes to mind; it doesn’t matter what, as long as they’re together.

 

Alex is happier than he’s been in months. Years, even.

 

Sometimes, he still finds Thomas quietly crying in their bed (their bed, of course, Alex’s bed has been abandoned). He doesn’t have to hide it, not anymore. Alex loves Thomas so, so much, and he couldn’t imagine it any other way.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Lafayette announced, not three days after Thomas was released from the hospital, that Friday night moves would become a weekly thing. This week, they’re watching  _ The GBF _ . Alexander invites Kitty, and Martha arrives with Angelica. 

 

It’s a good movie, it really is, but Thomas has a hard time paying attention when Alexander keeps pressing their lips together, keeps threading his fingers through Thomas’s hair, keeps murmuring sweet nothings in his ear, all in a tender attempt to distract him from the movie. Finally, Thomas gives in, grinning ear to ear as he catches Alexander’s lips with his. Alexander gasps a little, and pulls himself onto Thomas’s lap. “That’s presumptuous of you, baby.” Thomas murmurs against his boyfriend’s lips.

 

Alexander laughs, breathy and quiet. “Am I wrong?”

 

“Not at all.” Thomas replies, running his fingers through Alexander’s silky smooth locks. He’ll never get used to this: having the liberty to kiss Alexander, his  _ boyfriend _ , whenever he wants, and each time is better than the last. Alexander kisses him with so much passion, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s overwhelmingly wonderful, and Thomas is continually surprised by just how much he loves Alexander Hamilton.

 

The movie ends, and no one has the heart to pull the two apart. It is Thomas’s apartment, after all.

 

The next morning, Thomas wakes up with Alexander’s hair in his face, and he hasn’t felt love like this in  _ forever _ . 

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I remember your high school boyfriend.” Martha says to Thomas one day. 

 

“So do I.” Thomas replies, unsure of where his friend his going with this conversation.

 

“You loved him,” she says carefully, “but you weren’t happy with him. Alex is different.”

 

He cocks his head. “Good different or bad different?”

 

“Good, I think.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

They still argue in class, of course, even more than they used to. This time, though, the tension that fills the room during one of their intense debates is of an entirely different kind than the class is used to. It frustrates Alex to no end that he can’t kiss Thomas right there in front of everyone. “Impatient,” Thomas would scold him with a soft smile and a kiss. 

 

“Are you telling me,” Alex would counter, “that you don’t want to kiss me in class?” 

 

“I never said that.”

 

<><><><><><>

 

“I do not think,” Lafayette remarks to Kitty, “that they will ever get out of the honeymoon phase.” They’re back at the Life Cafe. Alex and Thomas are pressed together, their hands interlocked on the table as they converse with their friends. Every so often, one glances lovingly at the other. Occasionally, their eyes meet, which is always followed by a chaste kiss.

 

“I kinda hope they never do.” Kitty confesses. “They’re adorable.”

 

Lafayette nods in agreement. He hasn’t seen Alex this happy  _ ever _ , and he doesn’t want it to stop. 

 

“Hey,” Kitty says suddenly, “have I ever told you guys how I met Alex?”

 

Alex immediately ducks his face into Thomas’s shoulder. “Kitty,  _ no _ .” He whispers, knowing full well she won’t listen.

 

“Kitty,  _ yes _ .” She retorts, grinning. “I was at a bar one night with my friends, but I was the designated driver, so all my friends are drunk off their asses, while I am unfortunately sober, so I go see this sad sack sitting alone at the bar.”

 

“And you thought it was a good idea to go talk to him?” Lafayette crows, smiling. “Are you sure you were not drunk?”

 

Kitty laughs. “After he told me his sob story, I  _ wished  _ I was drunk.” She looks directly at Thomas. “He was miserable because he was in love with his room mate, who  _ obviously _ didn’t even like him.”

 

“Obviously.” John agrees, scoffing.

 

“I was fucking drunk, okay?” Alex mutters, still leaning heavily on Thomas.

 

Kitty goes on to describe in great detail the events of the night, embarrassing Alex to no end. When she finishes, Thomas tips Alex’s chin up and whispers, “Aw, darlin’, you’re such a cute drunk. I’d say don’t be ashamed, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this red.”

 

Instead of responding with some sharp remark, as Lafayette had been expecting, Alex murmurs, “Honey, you’ve seen me redder than this for  _ very _ different reasons.”

 

Thomas smirks and kisses him. Lafayette feels like he’s intruding on a very private moment, despite the fact that Alex clearly wanted everyone to hear what he said. Clearly, everyone else feels the same way. They look away awkwardly as Thomas and Alex talk, too quietly for anyone else to hear. They’re both grinning radiantly with their hands all over each other. 

 

They’re so in love, and Lafayette’s not sure he’ll ever get used to hit, but that doesn’t matter. They’re so  _ happy _ .

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alexander has taken to wearing more of Thomas’s clothes than his own, though Thomas has no reason to complain. It’s heartwarming to see his boyfriend in t shirts much too big and sweatpants that hang tantalizingly off his hips, especially since those t shirts and sweatpants are  _ his _ . It feels like marking his territory, somehow.

 

Alexander always seems a little more cheerful swaddled in Thomas’s oversized clothing. It’s adorable, really, seeing him muddling about in such ridiculously huge clothing. It makes Thomas wants to kiss him, which he does, at every opportunity (which, come to think of it, might be why Alexander wears his clothing so much).

 

John visits their room one day, only to find Thomas wrapped around Alexander. Alexander’s t shirt, which is not really his at all, hangs down to reveal a trail of hickeys. “Alex,” John sighs, “you’ve got a little somethin’ there.” 

 

“What?” Alexander frowns, then looks down. “Oh.” He grins at John. Thomas kisses Alexander on the cheek. 

 

“ _ Sickening _ .” John mutters as he leaves. He’s completely forgotten why he even came in the first place. “ _ Too goddamn romantic _ .”

 

<><><><><><>

 

Alex thinks to himself sometimes,  _ I’m the luckiest man alive _ . After all, he gets to wake up next to the man he loves more than anything in the world each and every morning. 

 

One night, in Thomas’s bed in his apartment, he whispers, “I know it took something awful to get us where we are, but I’m glad it happened. Is that bad?”

 

Thomas smiles, pulling Alex closer. “I’m glad, too, Lex.”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“...I do.”

 

Thomas presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Alex wonders if it gets better than this: sleeping, tangled up with his boyfriend, with those three magical words always waiting on the tip of his tongue.

 

<><><><><><>

 

No one’s stopped staring at the bandages on Thomas’s wrists, but it’s okay. He has Alexander to come home to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay!!!! fluff!! finally!!!
> 
> the last chapter, aka the epilogue, will most likely not be up in two days. i've been working on it for ages and i'm still not satisfied (cue angelica schuyler joke) with it. it will probably be up by the end of the week but no promises! i won't take too long, just bear with me!
> 
> apart from that, me and my friend scully_carter (author of the jamilton fics like you need it to survive and take a break) are working on a collab!!! i may have already mentioned this but whatever. anyway, the collab will probably not be up for a long time because writing is very difficult with school, for me at least.
> 
> anyway!!!!! thanks so much for reading, i love you all, leave a comment!!


	21. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is it, guys. The End.

“This place is fucking giant.” Alexander mutters as Thomas throws open the doors to Monticello.

 

“Of course it is.” Thomas retorts, taking Alexander’s bags. “What did you expect?”

 

Alexander shrugs, marvelling at the lavish interior. “I don’t know.”

 

“I believe you once told me I had  _ couches made of cash _ .” Thomas says casually, grinning when Alexander narrows his eyes.

 

“That was before I knew you, asshole.” He snaps. “Who needs this many hallways? Who  _ cleans _ this place?”

 

“I have people who tend to the gardens and clean.” He explains. He sees the quickly building look of anger on Alexander’s face and adds, “I pay them greatly and they have quarters here. I’m not a  _ slaver _ , you ass.”

 

“You’re a  _ republican _ , I had to at least  _ ask _ .” Alexander sulks.

 

“We’re not talking about politics on vacation, babe. You promised.” Thomas reminds him, carrying his bags to the bedroom. 

 

Immediately, Alexander jumps on the king-sized bed, laughing. “This is  _ amazing _ .”

 

Thomas turns his nose up. “ _ Wow _ , you grouse about my house being  _ giant _ , but as soon as you see the bed, you’re happy. It’s like you only want me for sex, Alexander, I cannot  _ believe _ -”

 

“Shut up and get over here, babe.” Alexander commands, sitting up. Thomas drops his bags and obliges, crawling on the already messy sheets beside his boyfriend, who kisses him immediately. Thomas indulges in him for a few minutes before pushing him away. Alexander pouts at him and climbs on top of him, sucking on his neck.

 

“While I am-  _ ah _ \- enjoying this, I still need to give you a tour of the house.” 

 

Alexander pauses to announce, “It can wait,” before beginning to undo the buttons on Thomas’s shirt.

 

Thomas scoffs and shoves him away, fixing his shirt. “Later, you thirsty asshole.”

 

“Don’t you  _ love _ me?” Alexander cries dramatically, trailing after Thomas slowly.

 

Thomas stops and kisses Alexander on the cheek. “Of  _ course _ I love you, sweetheart, but I’m not taking you to bed as soon as we arrive.” 

 

“ _ Taking me to bed _ ,” Alex mutters, glaring. “This is the twenty first century, who calls it that?” Thomas takes his hand and pulls him forward, rolling his eyes. 

 

“Sophisticates.” Thomas answers, scoffing.

 

“I think you mean pretentious assholes.” Alexander corrects him, lengthening his strides to catch up to Thomas. “I bet you were a grouchy, rich, old politician in your past life.”

 

“I hope to become a grouchy, rich, old politician in  _ this _ life.” Thomas informs him, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s waist. 

 

“You can check grouchy and rich off your to-do list.” Alexander grumbles, leaning into Thomas’s touch. 

 

“I’m not the one being grouchy, darlin’.” Thomas says lightly, only frustrating Alexander more.

 

“Maybe I’d be a little less grouchy if you hadn’t insisted on touring your mansion instead of-”

 

“We have all the time in the world, hon. Slow down.” He says, though he knows  _ slowing down _ is a foreign concept to Alexander Hamilton.

 

“No.” Alexander hisses petulantly, sticking his tongue out. 

 

Before Alexander can grouse any more, Thomas leads him to the kitchen. Immediately, Alexander says, “Babe, you can’t cook. Do you even know how to use half the stuff in here?”

 

“James cooks when he’s here, or Sally.” Thomas explains. “They try to teach me, but I’ve never been able to do anything more than macaroni.”

 

If Alexander catches the name  _ Sally _ he doesn’t comment. “I’m gonna have to learn how to cook, aren’t I? I’m going to have to learn to support us, if you won’t.” His voice takes on a despairing tone as he abruptly drops his full weight on Thomas, throwing his head back dramatically. 

 

“You’re an asshole, Alexander Hamilton.” Thomas sighs. “I could make you sleep on the couch tonight, you know. It is  _ my _ house.” He’d never make Alexander sleep alone, no matter what he says. He waits for Alexander’s reaction, and isn’t surprised in the least when he’s countered with, “I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all, sugar.” Alexander pins Thomas’s hips against the counter, and once again Thomas pushes him away.

 

“Sugar?” He asks as Alexander sighs in defeat, tucking himself beneath Thomas’s arm. 

 

“You don’t like it?” Alexander responds, surprised. “What would you rather? Sugar tits?”

 

“Fuck you, sugar.”

 

“You do have great pecs. I’m gonna stick with it.” Alexander decides, grinning mischievously. 

 

“You see that closet down the hall? I’m gonna lock you in it.” Thomas snaps, releasing Alexander from his embrace.

 

Alexander rolls his eyes. “Sweetie, I haven’t been in the closet for a long time.” He speeds up, ducking into the next room. Thomas winces; he’d meant to save that one for last, but it’s too late now, he supposes.

 

“What’s this?” His boyfriend calls, poking his head out. Thomas follows him, smiling immediately at the sight of the room. In one corner sits an old-fashioned grand piano, the once ivory keys yellowed with age. He also has a violin and a cello, though the violin is by far his favourite. 

 

“This is the music room.” Thomas throws open the curtains and smiles as light floods into the small room. Alexander stares at him for a long moment before demanding, “I didn’t know you played piano!”

 

“And violin, and cello.” Thomas adds, opening his violin case. The instrument is beautiful, in his family for generations. He glides his bow across the strings, unsurprised to hear them out of tune. Alexander attaches himself to Thomas’s side as he tunes it, the action familiar and comforting. Alexander barely reacts when he crosses the room in search of sheet music. He soon finds what he’s looking for: a wrinkled sheet of paper covered in elegant but cramped hand-written music.

 

“What’s this?” Alexander demands when he returns to his spot, but he can’t read the notes. Thomas grins, finding his music stand and positioning it accordingly. He gently shoves his boyfriend aside.

 

“I wrote something about you when I was here for Christmas.” He explains. Alexander cocks his head, waiting for Thomas to begin. In retrospect, Thomas realizes maybe he should have practiced before showing this piece off, but he soon realizes he didn’t have to. The melody flows naturally, and for the extent of the song, there’s nothing else in the world but Thomas and his violin. 

 

He’d written the song, as he said, at Christmas. It was not two days after James left, and he was longing for companionship. Specifically, Alexander’s companionship. The haunting strains sound of longing and loneliness. Thomas, once he finishes the song, wishes he’d been watching Alexander. The man’s face is astonished, to say the least; his eyes are wider than Thomas has ever seen. His mouth hangs open.

 

“You’re gonna start catching flies, darlin’.” Thomas says mildly. Alexander composes himself, snapping his jaws shut forcefully. He blinks rapidly before huffing.

 

“That was so  _ sad _ , babe.” He finally bursts out. “It was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but  _ Thomas _ , did you write that about-”

 

“You.” Thomas finishes. He sets down his violin and sighs. “It was a long time ago, Alexander. I thought you should hear it.”

 

“I’m so glad you showed me.” Alexander hugs him, tucking his chin over Thomas’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

 

Thomas steps back and tips Alexander’s chin up. “It’s nothing,darlin’.” He presses a chaste kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “Anything for you, Lex.”

 

Alexander grins. “You should play that violin more. It’s kinda hot.”

 

Thomas scoffs. “You have the weirdest turn ons.”

 

“May I remind you of your-”

 

“We don’t speak of that, Alexander.” Thomas cuts him off. He leads his boyfriend to the next room, ignoring his protests. 

 

It’s nice to show Alexander around his home. He has a feeling this trip is going to be terribly domestic, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t  _ ecstatic _ about that.

 

<><><><><><>

 

On the morning of the second day, Thomas wakes up with Alexander tucked into his side beneath his arm. His head rests on Thomas’s chest as he scrolls through his phone, the brightness turned down low. 

 

He finds out it’s ten o’clock. “Why didn’t you wake me up, babe?” He asks, shifting so he and his boyfriend are face to face.   
  


“Didn’t want to bother you.” Alexander replies. “You looked so peaceful.” He smirks. “Plus, your hair is a rat’s nest and I needed pictures before you fixed it.”

  
“You asshole.” Thomas mutters, rolling over. He sits up and ties his hair back. “Up and at ‘em, Lex. Time for breakfast.”

 

“Noooooooo.” Alexander groans, drawing out the sound. He flops down, throwing his phone across the bed. “I don’t wanna.”

 

“You’re a morning person and I can’t cook.” Thomas states. “By all means, stay in bed, but your poor boyfriend will starve to death.”  _ Boyfriend _ . The word still gives him a rush of excitement. For so long, he’d yearned for it to be true, and now they were in Thomas’s room, in Thomas’s lifelong home, waking up after a night of sex. It was everything he’d ever dreamed about and more.

 

“I don’t suppose you could not eat breakfast, maybe?” Alexander pulls himself toward Thomas. 

 

“It’s the most important meal of the day!” Thomas cries, mock-offended. “How dare you even  _ suggest _ skipping it?”

 

“I eat breakfast, like, once a year.” Alexander retorts, resting his head on Thomas’s lap. “And can you put your hair down? You look a lot like Laf and it’s freaking me out.”

 

Thomas scoffs. “Lafayette and I look nothing alike. Get up, honey, before I make you.”

 

“And how will you  _ make me _ ?” He tilts his head so his hot breath goes through Thomas’s boxers, mouth dangerously close to Thomas’s dick.

 

Thomas shivers but doesn’t indulge in Alexander. “While I  _ love  _ ordering you around, I’m fucking hungry.” He moves away from his boyfriend, letting Alexander’s head hit the mattress with a soft thump. 

 

“I am not your  _ slave _ , I am your  _ boyfriend _ , you monster.” He says as he stands up. Thomas follows him into the kitchen, the view of Alexander’s ass not going unappreciated. 

 

The kitchen has been cleaned since the night before, and Thomas makes a mental note to thank his employees. 

 

“What would you like, my liege?” He bows, the sarcasm evident on his face.

 

“Make whatever you want, as long as it isn’t toasted or microwaved.” Thomas replies, sitting on one of the stools by the island. 

 

“I’m going to make the best damn breakfast you’ve ever tasted.” Alexander mutters, rummaging through the cupboards. 

 

“I don’t know.” Thomas says casually. “I’ve had wakeup calls where something arguably better was in my mouth.”

 

Alexander throws a smirk over his shoulder, and Thomas notices immediately his blown pupils. “You aren’t in a  _ cooking _ mood, are you, baby?” He stands up, steps forward, and rests his chin on Alexander’s shoulder. “Aren’t you tired?” He purrs, breath hot on his boyfriend’s cheek. “I certainly wore you out last night.” He feels Alexander shiver as he resumes his search for ingredients. 

 

“I’m trying to make you breakfast, leave me alone.” He mumbles, elbowing Thomas with his free arm. He’s found pancake mix now. Thomas leaves him to make the pancakes, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Alexander looks furtively back at him every few minutes, his pupils still huge.

 

Finally, Alexander carries two plates to the island, both stacked with pancakes. “Get the syrup yourself.”

 

Thomas obeys, finding the maple syrup in the fridge. He pours some on his food and licks slowly the excess off of his fingers, grinning. Alexander quickly focusses on his own plate, face reddening.

 

Thomas takes much too long to finish, drawing out Alexander’s frustration. Abruptly, he stands up. He takes his boyfriend’s hand and pulls him through the corridors, not quite sure of what he’s doing. He chooses a random room and shuts the door behind him, grabbing Alexander by the hips and lifting him up. Immediately, he wraps his legs around Thomas. Thomas’s hands cradle his ass while his mouth sucks bruises in a trail down Alexander’s neck. 

 

It occurs to Thomas, once they’ve finished, that this is the happiest he’s ever been.

 

<><><><><><>

 

It’s late in the evening. Thomas is sprawled out on his bed. Alexander is on top of him, face tucked into his collarbone. They’re both drowsy, words quiet and mumbled. 

 

“I love you, sweetheart.” Thomas murmurs as he runs his fingers over Alexander’s back.

 

“Love you too, honey.” 

 

Maybe it took a lot to get them where they are. Maybe it took pain, too much pain, and sorrow. Maybe it took some of the worst months of Thomas’s life. Maybe it nearly cost him his life.

 

But it was worth it. 

 

Every painful, torturous second was worth  _ this _ : having Alexander, his  _ boyfriend _  on top of him, whispered  _ I love you _ s exchanged in the darkening room. Tomorrow, he’ll kiss Thomas awake, and they will be happy, and they will be together. In two weeks time, once they return to New York, they will see  _ Book of Mormon _ together with the tickets Thomas bought in January. When he bought them, he’d been completely sure Alexander would bring someone else. It was never a possibility that Alexander would bring him, not then.

 

Thomas still gets sad sometimes. He still has to take medicine, he still has to see a therapist, but never once has it been as bad as before. Alexander’s panic attacks still occur, much less frequently now. They’re surviving, and they’re doing it together. He expresses this to Alexander, who opens his dark eyes and whispers, “Look around, Thomas. Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now.”

  
It was so, so worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, SO much for reading. Seriously, I can't express in words just how grateful I am for each and every one of you and your support. To all of you who have left a kudos, comment, or just simply _read_ : you mean so much to me. I love writing, and I'm so terribly happy that my writing has made you guys happy too. 
> 
> Special thanks to some people who helped me through this: Abbey, AksentNetharia, BookMeDanny, hamilace, just_a_girl_from_vulcan, larryismyweakness, la_la_baguettes, Terra_Of_Roshar, and ThatShipHasSailed. And, on Tumblr, canada-tries, ofc. I am most certainly forgetting some people, and if I didn't mention you it does by no means mean that I don't appreciate your comments, because I DO. 
> 
> Anyway, on another note, I may do a sequel. I'm not sure yet. Whether or not I do a sequel, I will do a one shot or two in this universe. (i made a series out of this! yay!) You can't get rid of me yet. 
> 
> Once again, my tumblr is scaaarlet-witch.tumblr.com, tell me what you thought, tell me how your day was, tell me anything. I want to talk to you all.
> 
> Okay, I swear I'm done now. One last time: thank you. Everyone who is reading this now, or has ever taken the time to read it: thank. you. so. much.
> 
> ok ok edit: if one of u would like to message me or something on tumblr about the sequel that would be great because it would be good to have a reader's perspective on my (very few and scattered) ideas. please!!!

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is scaaarlet-witch go talk to me!
> 
> tell me what you thought!!!!! i love hearing from everyone, as every author does!! thanks for reading, i love you!!!


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